7^^€> 

153 


"I  think  I'll  go  this  alone,"  was  Kestner's  final  answer 


Supertales  of 

MODERN  MY5TERY 

By  Arthur  Stringer 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 


McKINLAY,  STONE  er  MACKENZIE 

NEW   YORK 


Copyright,  1014  and  1915.  by  International  Magazine  Company 


COPYRIGHT,  1915, 
BY  ARTHUR  STRINGER 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  April,  1915 
Reprinted   May,  August,    1915. 


URL 
SRLF  5Mr 


PART  I 
THE  QUARTERS  IN  PARIS 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 


i 

"  That's  your  woman!  " 

It  was  Wilsnach  of  the  Paris  Office  who  spoke.  He 
spoke  quietly,  over  the  edge  of  his  Le  Journal 
Amusant.  But  the  fingers  that  held  the  sheet  were  a 
little  unsteady. 

"  The  woman  with  the  bird  of  paradise  plumes  ?  " 
asked  Kestner  of  the  Secret  Service,  paddling  in  his 
half-melted  mousse  au  chocolat  with  a  long-handled 
spoon. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Wilsnach.  "  Get  her,  and  get 
her  good ! " 

Kestner,  the  wandering  mouchard  whose  home  was 
under  his  hat  and  whose  beat  was  all  Europe,  quietly 
took  out  a  cigar  and  lighted  it. 

He  was  not  studying  the  woman.  Instead,  he  was 
sleepily  studying  the  end  of  his  cigar.  Yet  he  studied 
it  persistently,  as  though  its  newly  formed  ash  held 
the  solution  of  many  solemn  mysteries. 

Across  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  opposite  the  double  row 
of  little  iron  tables  where  he  sat,  his  idly  wandering 
gaze  caught  the  gleam  of  metal  letters  against  a  white 
marble  wall.  These  letters  spelt  the  name  of  an 

American  jeweller.     The   afternoon   sun  made   them 

3 


4  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

shine  like  gold.  The  same  sun  glinted  pleasantly 
through  the  leaves  of  a  sycamore.  It  shone  on  motor- 
busses  threading  their  way  through  the  heart  of  Paris. 
It  shone  on  tonneaux  in  which  lounged  painted 
actresses  and  on  taxicabs  in  which  sat  tired-eyed 
tourists.  It  shone  on  promenading  sidewalk-throngs 
and  red-trousered  Zouaves  and  bare-headed  students 
in  black  gowns  and  pastry-boys  with  trays  balanced 
on  their  heads  and  a  street-tumbler  with  a  mat  under 
his  arm  and  a  haggard-browed  old  man  in  frugal 
search  of  cigarette-ends  along  the  boulevarde  curbing. 

Kestner,  while  his  mousse  au  chocolat  deliquesced 
on  the  little  iron  table  in  front  of  him,  saw  all  this. 
But  incidentally,  and  as  though  by  accident,  he  saw 
other  things.  Among  these  was  the  woman  in  the 
bird  of  paradise  hat. 

He  sat  watching  her  as  his  many  years  in  the  service 
had  taught  him  always  to  watch  his  quarry,  with  that 
casual  and  intermittent  glance,  with  that  discreet 
obliquity,  which  could  so  easily  be  interpreted  as  the 
idle  curiosity  of  an  idle-minded  sightseer. 

Yet  Kestner,  at  the  moment,  was  anything  but  idle- 
minded.  At  each  apparently  casual  side-glance  his 
quick  eye  was  picking  up  some  new  point,  very  much 
as  a  magnet  catches  up  its  iron  filings. 

"  So  that's  our  woman !  "  he  finally  murmured.  He 
spoke  without  emotion. 

Yet  he  was  a  little  startled,  inwardly,  by  her  appear- 
ance of  youthfulness.  At  the  outside,  he  concluded, 
she  could  not  be  more  than  twenty-two  or  twenty- 
three.  That  was  younger  than  most  of  them.  In 
other  ways,  too,  he  saw  that  she  was  a  distinct  devia- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  5 

tion  from  type.  She  even  puzzled  him  a  little.  And 
he  was  not  a  man  frequently  puzzled  by  the  women  he 
encountered. 

Still  again  he  studied  her  from  under  drooping  and 
indifferent  eyelids.  He  could  see  that  she  had  taken 
off  her  gloves  and  rolled  them  up  into  a  tight  ball. 
Her  bare  hands  were  linked  together,  as  she  leaned 
forward  with  her  elbows  on  the  round-topped  table, 
and  on  the  delicate  bridgeway  of  those  interwoven 
fingers  rested  the  perfect  oval  of  her  chin. 

Of  these  fingers  Kestner  took  especial  notice.  For 
all  their  slenderness  there  was  a  nervous  strength 
about  them,  an  odd  fastidiousness  of  movement,  a 
promise  of  vast  executive  capabilities.  The  man 
watching  them  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  were  the 
fingers  of  an  artist. 

Kestner*s  indolent  glance  went  back  to  her  face. 
The  pallor  of  that  youthful  yet  ascetic-looking  face 
was  accentuated  by  the  dark  brim  of  the  hat  under 
the  bird  of  paradise  plumes.  The  violet-blue  eyes,  at 
the  moment  almost  as  sleepy-looking  as  Kestner's, 
were  made  darker  by  the  heavy  fringe  of  their  lashes. 
Yet  there  seemed  nothing  suppressed  or  circuitous  in 
their  outlook  on  the  world. 

Kestner,  in  fact,  could  find  no  fault  with  the  model- 
ling of  the  face.  It  should  have  had  more  colour,  he 
might  have  admitted,  yet  the  ivory  creaminess  of  the 
skin  seemed  to  atone  for  that  absence  of  colour.  The 
dull  chestnut  of  the  heavily  massed  hair  would  have 
been  more  effective  if  done  in  the  mode  of  the  hour  — 
but  even  that,  he  concluded,  was  a  matter  of  taste. 

It  seemed,  on  the  whole,  a  face  singularly  devoid 


6  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

of  guile.  It  was  only  about  the  lips,  with  their  vague 
line  of  revolt,  that  Kestner  dould  detect  anything 
Ishmael-like,  anything  significant  of  her  career  and 
calling. 

"  That's  right,"  muttered  Wilsnach,  as  he  bent  over 
his  illustrated  paper.  "  Get  her  good  —  she's  the 
kind  who'll  need  it !  " 

"  That's  where  I  think  you're  wrong,"  remarked  the 
Secret  Agent,  as  he  noted  the  haughtiness  of  the  well- 
poised  head.  "  I  could  spot  her  among  a  million." 

"  But  you'll  never  see  her  there  to  be  spotted," 
amended  Wilsnach.  "  She's  the  one  they  keep  out  of 
sight  in  working  hours." 

"  Tell  me  about  'em,"  said  the  listless-eyed  Kestner. 

Wilsnach  drew  his  iron  chair  a  little  closer  to  the 
table. 

"  It  took  us  over  seven  months  to  fine-comb  what  we 
know  about  them  out  of  six  different  cities.  You  see, 
we  could  only  spot  them  on  the  wing,  the  same  as  I 
spotted  them  to-day  when  I  'phoned  you." 

"  Who's  the  man  ?  "  asked  Kestner. 

"  He's  carrying  the  name  of  Lambert,  just  at  pres- 
ent. In  Budapest  he  was  known  as  Hartmann.  In 
Rome  it's  probably  something  else.  But  we're  sure 
of  one  thing:  he's  the  manager  of  their  little  circle. 
He's  also  their  paper  expert.  He's  perfected  a  bleach- 
ing process  of  his  own,  and  he's  the  only  man  in  Europe 
who  can  re-fill  cheque  perforations.  He's  also  a 
finished  etcher  and  engraver,  and  an  expert  in  inks  and 
colour-work." 

"  Now  the  woman,"  prompted  Kestner. 

"  She's  the  old  man's  daughter,  as  far  as  we  can 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  7 

learn.  In  fact  there's  no  doubt  of  it.  He's  had  her 
in  hand  for  years.  She's  the  free-hand  worker  for  the 
gang.  She  can  work  on  stone  or  steel  or  copper,  and 
she  can  do  the  best  imitation  of  lathe-work  on  a 
Treasury  note  you  ever  clapped  eyes  on.  The  old 
man  taught  her  all  that,  the  brush  work,  the  photo- 
engraving process,  the  silk-thread  trick,  and  the  oil 
washes  for  ageing  a  note." 

"  Got  any  samples  ?  "  asked  Kestner,  revolving  his 
cigar-end  about  his  puckered  lips  as  though  life  held 
no  serious  thoughts  for  him. 

"  The  office  has  one  or  two.  But  look  at  those 
hands  of  hers !  You  could  tell  that  girl  was  an  adept 
by  those  fingers !  " 

"How  about  the  face?" 

"  That's  what  puzzled  me.  She  certainly  doesn't 
look  the  part.  But  there  were  certain  things  we 
traced  up.  This  man  Lambert  brought  her  to  Flor- 
ence years  ago,  when  she  was  a  mere  child.  He  trained 
her  for  miniature  painting  there.  Then  he  taught 
her  etching  and  engraving.  Then  he  started  her 
working  in  oils,  and  for  a  couple  of  years  she  was 
forging  old  masters  for  him.  Next,  as  far  as  we  can 
learn,  he  turned  his  attention  to  free-hand  script  work. 
He  got  her  copying  museum  records  and  manuscripts 
in  the  Uffizi.  Then  they  migrated  to  Pisa  for  a  year. 
It  was  there  she  must  have  done  the  ten-kroner  Aus- 
trian note  that  the  office  has  a  sample  of.  She  also 
got  away  with  an  uncommonly  good  Italian  postage- 
stamp,  for  which  Lambert  had  made  a  waterproof  ink 
of  his  own.  Then  they  bobbed  up  in  Brussels  next, 
and  moved  on  to  London,  and  a  year  later  were  back 


8  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

in  Rome,  sliding  from  city  to  city,  and  doing  the 
smoothest  forging  and  cheque-raising  and  counterfeit- 
ing and  flimflam  work  of  the  century." 

"  But  as  you  say,  she  certainly  doesn't  look  the 
part." 

"  She  sure  doesn't,"  admitted  Wilsnach.  "  Pouch- 
er's  got  a  theory  that  the  old  man  hypnotises  the  girl 
and  makes  her  do  the  work  without  knowing  she  does 
it.  But  that's  fantastic.  I  don't  even  think  it's 
worth  considering." 

Wilsnach  stared  down  at  his  paper  again,  for  at 
the  moment  Kestner  was  speaking  sotto  voce  to  a 
withered-cheeked  old  man  with  a  trayful  of  street-toys. 
He  was  speaking  to  the  camelot  in  the  patois  of  the 
street. 

"  Galipaux,  pipe  that  woman  at  the  sixth  table  on 
my  left.  Lift  her  handbag  when  you  get  the  chance. 
Take  your  time  about  it,  and  whatever  you  do,  don't 
mess  the  job!  " 

The  old  toy-vender  called  Galipaux  neither  answered 
nor  looked  back.  He  merely  passed  on  his  way 
through  the  jostling  crowd.  Kestner  continued  to 
puddle  lazily  with  his  melted  mousse  au  chocolat. 

"  What's  your  theory  ?  "  he  finally  asked. 

"  I  rather  think  the  old  man's  a  nut.  As  far  as  we 
can  gather,  he  was  an  expert  accountant  in  his  time, 
and  later  swung  into  bankwork.  Then  he  fell.  He 
always  claimed  it  was  a  frame-up.  But  he  did  four 
years  in  Sing  Sing  —  was  the  school  teacher  in  the 
prison  there  —  before  the  other  man  confessed.  That 
soured  him,  and  he  just  went  bad  after  that.  He  did 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL'  9 

time  again,  in  Atlanta,  but  forged  his  own  pardon  and 
got  away  with  it." 

"What's  the  rest  of  the  gang?  " 

"  The  only  other  person  we've  been  able  to  spot  is  a 
Neapolitan  named  Morello.  They  call  him  Tony. 
He's  as  big  as  the  old  man  there,  and  as  smooth  as 
they  make  'em.  They  use  him  as  their  breaker  and 
shover.  He's  been  years  in  America  and  speaks  Eng- 
lish without  an  accent.  He  was  a  paying-teller  in  an 
Italian  bank  in  New  York,  and  later  on  an  olive-oil 
importer  there.  He  came  under  the  police  eye  seven 
years  ago  for  smuggling." 

"  Ever  indicted?  " 

"  Never  in  America.  He  fell  in  Europe,  a  year  and 
a  half  ago.  He  got  the  blue-prints  of  the  Heligoland 
Naval  Fortifications  and  was  selling  a  forged  copy  to 
a  French  secret  agent  in  Brussels  when  the  German 
government  got  wise.  They  got  him  back  across  the 
border  and  tied  him  up  with  a  fifteen  year  sentence. 
Then  the  girl  and  the  old  man  got  busy,  did  the 
Atlanta  trick  over  again,  and  got  Morello  liberated 
and  on  a  steamer  for  Harwich  before  the  officials  knew 
the  release-order  was  a  forgery.  I've  every  reason  to 
imagine  he  thinks  a  lot  of  that  girl.  He  follows  her 
around  like  a  dog." 

"  And  that's  all  you  know  ?  "  asked  the  unemotional 
Kestner. 

"  There's  an  American  girl  who  calls  herself  Cherry 
Dreiser  floating  somewhere  about  the  fringes  of  that 
gang,  but  we  can't  connect  her  with  them.  She  was 
known  in  New  York  as  Sadie  Wimpel,  and  has  a  record 


10  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

as  a  con-woman.  We  know  she  worked  with  a  wire- 
tapper  named  Davis,  and  later  decided  to  leave 
America  for  a  year  or  two.  That  was  after  a  badger- 
game  rake-off  over  there.  We  first  tailed  her  in 
Amsterdam  on  some  diamond  smuggling  work.  Later, 
we  found  her  on  her  way  to  Paris  with  this  woman 
called  Maura  Lambert." 

"  So  her  name's  Maura ! "  languidly  commented 
Kestner,  as  he  threw  away  his  cigar.  "  But  I  think 
you're  wrong  about  the  old  gentleman.  That  man  is 
not  a  lunatic." 

"  Oh,  he's  shrewd  and  keen  enough,"  admitted  Wil- 
snach.  "  But  he  has  that  one  obsession  of  his." 

"Which  one?" 

"  That  nut  idea  that  he  can  stampede  all  modern 
commerce  off  the  range,  that  one  woman's  hand, 
properly  trained,  can  crowbar  over  the  whole  modern 
world  of  business.  His  claim,  I  suppose,  is  that  all 
our  money-machinery,  all  our  business,  our  banks  and 
credit  systems  and  negotiable  security  methods,  actu- 
ally depend  on  one  thing.  And  that  thing  is  the 
integrity  of  paper.  The  modern  business  man  has 
got  to  know  that  his  documents  are  genuine,  that  his 
bank-notes  are  bona-fide,  that  his  drafts  are  authentic, 
that  his  currency  certificates  are  unquestioned." 

"  Naturally ! " 

"  Lambert's  got  the  idea  that  he  can  undermine  the 
whole  structure  of  modern  commercial  life  by  striking 
at  that  one  thing,  by  making  men  feel  that  its  paper, 
its  bank-notes  and  bonds  and  certificates  are  no  longer 
to  be  depended  upon.  He  imagines  he  is  going  to 
make  banks  crumble  and  governments  totter  by  simply 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  11 

flooding  the  country  with  counterfeits,  by  leaving  every 
one  in  doubt  as  to  which  is  the  real  thing  and  which  is 
the  worthless  imitation." 

"  And  thereby  add  a  little  to  his  own  income?  " 

"  I  don't  think  that's  the  prime  consideration.  He's 
always  had  money  enough.  I  know  for  certain  he  got 
eleven  thousand  marks  for  supplying  the  forgeries  of 
the  Kiel  fortifications  when  the  originals  were  carried 
away." 

"  And  his  next  move?  "  prompted  Kestner. 

"  We've  concluded  that  his  next  move  must  mean 
America.  It's  what  he's  been  planning  for,  for  years. 
He's  laid  all  his  ropes.  He's  going  into  the  thing  on 
a  big  scale.  In  six  months'  time  he's  going  to  unload 
three  or  four  million  dollars  in  counterfeit  on  the  re- 
public. In  the  second  six  months  he'll  put  out  more 
than  double  that  amount." 

"And  then  what?" 

"  Isn't  that  enough  ?  "  inquired  Wilsnach. 

"  It  sounds  like  a  very  fine  plan.  But  if  you  knew 
all  this,  why  haven't  you  closed  in  on  them?  " 

"  Headquarters  said  hands  off  until  you  could  take 
over  the  case." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  Headquarters,"  sighed 
Kestner.  Then  Kestner  sat  without  speaking,  for  a 
withered-faced  street-vendor  had  placed  on  his  knees 
a  folded  copy  of  an  afternoon  newspaper.  This  paper 
the  Secret  Agent  carefully  unfolded  and  let  lie  on  the 
table  in  front  of  him,  and  for  a  short  while  seemed 
busied  with  its  contents. 

In  that  brief  space  of  time,  however,  Kestner  had 
done  several  things.  One  was  to  hold  a  lady's  bag 


!12  THE  HAND  OF  PERU, 

between  the  flaps  of  his  coatfront,  well  under  the  table 
edge,  and  there  quickly  but  minutely  examine  its  con- 
tents. Another  was  to  register  a  mental  note  of  every 
name  and  address  found  therein.  And  still  another 
was  to  trace  on  a  gilt-edged  carte  des  glaces  an 
outline  of  each  key  found  in  the  bag  of  that  quiet 
unsuspecting  lady,  while  the  final  movement  was  to  slip 
the  bag  back  into  the  adroit  hands  of  one  Galipaux, 
who,  in  due  time,  drew  the  attention  of  a  stately  lady 
in  a  bird  of  paradise  hat  to  the  fact  that  her  purse  had 
fallen  to  the  pavement.  And  for  this,  Kestner  saw, 
the  mendacious  old  scoundrel  was  rewarded  with  a 
franc. 

"  Her  money,  I  regret  to  say,  was  all  unmistakably 
genuine,"  observed  Kestner. 

"  And  so  is  her  appetite,  for  I  notice  that  she's  just 
made  away  with  her  third  Coupe  Jacques" 

"  She  is  certainly  not  true  to  type,"  repeated  the 
perplexed  Kestner. 

"  Well,  you'll  find  her  true  to  her  gang !  " 

"  I'U  teU  you  that  before  midnight." 

"You  mean  you're  going  to  jump  right  into  the 
case?  " 

"  I'm  in  it  already,"  retorted  Kestner,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "  I  have  located  the  lady,  and,  if  I  am  not 
vastly  mistaken,  I  have  located  the  plant." 

"Where?" 

"  The  first  in  a  little  street  off  the  Boulevard  Mont- 
parnasse,  and  the  second  in  so  remote  a  place  as  the 
city  of  Palermo." 

Wilsnach  followed  the  other  man  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL'  13 

"  What'll  be  your  line  of  procedure  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That  I  can't  tell  until  my  visit  south  of  the  river." 

"  Then  what  men  will  you  want?  " 

Kestner  lighted  a  second  cigar  —  as  usual,  he  was 
smoking  too  much  —  and  for  a  few  seconds  was  deep 
in  thought. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  this  alone,"  was  his  final  answer  to 
Wilsnach. 


II 

KESTNER,  who  at  times  gave  the  appearance  of  being 
as  lethargic  as  a  blacksnake,  could  on  occasions  move 
with  the  astounding  rapidity  of  that  reptilious  animal. 

His  activities  during  the  hour  that  ensued  stood 
proof  enough  of  this.  Within  that  brief  space  the 
Lamberts,  father  and  daughter,  had  been  shadowed  to 
the  restaurant  where  they  gave  every  promise  of  din- 
ing ;  divers  messengers  had  been  despatched  and  inter- 
viewed; a  number  of  pass-keys  had  been  freshly  cut 
from  the  diagrams  pencilled  on  a  gilt-edged  carte  des 
glaces  from  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix;  an  artfully  worded 
telegram  had  lured  Antonio  Morello  to  the  Gare  de 
Lyon  to  meet  an  Italian  confederate  arriving  un- 
expectedly from  Milan,  and  a  handsome  pourboire  had 
engaged  the  sympathetic  attention  of  the  concierge 
presiding  over  the  entrance  to  that  remarkably  ram- 
shackle old  studio  building  in  that  ramshackle  old  court 
just  off  a  side-street  leading  from  the  Boulevard  Mont- 
parnasse  in  which  the  Lamberts  were  temporarily 
housed.  One  of  the  doors  on  the  top  floor  of  this 
building,  in  fact,  bore  the  modest  inscription 

Paul  Lambert,  Graveur  Sur  Acier 

and  it  was  before  this  door  that  Kestner  paused, 
listened,  knocked,  and  then  listened  again.  Taking 
out  one  of  his  newly  cut  keys,  he  inserted  it  in  the  lock, 

opened  the  door,  and  stepped  inside. 

14 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  15 

Still  again  he  stood  just  inside  the  closed  door 
listening,  for  several  moments.  With  a  catlike  quiet- 
ness of  tread  he  moved  first  to  one  door,  and  then  to 
another.  Then,  having  satisfied  himself  that  he  was 
alone  in  the  apartment,  he  began  an  expeditious  and 
systematic  search  of  the  place.  This  search  soon  nar- 
rowed itself  down  to  the  large  studio,  lighted  only  by  a 
skylight  of  ground  glass,  which  proved  itself  to  be  the 
workroom  of  his  friend,  the  **  graveur  sur  acier."  For 
in  this  studio  Kestner  found  many  things  of  interest. 

The  first  thing  that  caught  his  attention  was  a  pro- 
jecting lantern  and  a  white  cotton  screen.  Across  the 
room  from  this  stood  a  camera  hooded  by  a  square  of 
black  lustre.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  large 
oak  table  littered  with  etchings  and  art  prints,  while 
between  two  doors  leading  into  two  closets  stood  a 
cabinet  filled  with  miniatures  painted  on  ivory.  On  & 
second  table,  against  the  remoter  wall  of  the  studio,, 
stood  rows  of  acid  bottles,  inks,  and  a  collection  of 
engra  vin  g- to  ols . 

All  of  these,  Kestner  knew,  might  be  used  by  an 
etcher  on  steel  or  copper,  and  none  of  them  implied  an. 
industry  that  was  illicit.  So  he  continued  his  search, 
minutely,  and  sighed  with  relief  when  under  a  drapery 
of  imitation  Gobelin  tapestry  his  exploring  knuckles 
came  in  contact  with  the  metallic  surface  of  a  safe- 
front. 

It  took  him  but  a  moment  to  throw  back  that 
factory-made  affront  to  the  Gobelins  and  discover  him- 
self face  to  face  with  an  oblong  of  japanned  steel  held 
shut  by  a  combination  lock.  Within  that  wall,  he 
felt,  lay  the  object  of  his  search.  He  tapped  the  metal 


16  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

sorface,  inquiringly,  as  a  physician's  fingers  tap  a 
patient's  chest.  He  tested  the  combination,  but  with- 
•at  success.  He  examined  the  armoured  hinge-sock- 
ets. Then  he  stood  off  and  studied  the  oblong  of 
japanned  metal. 

He  was  an  expert  in  such  things ;  his  life  had  made 
iim  such.  He  knew  that  with  a  little  glazier's  putty, 
an  air-pump,  and  a  few  ounces  of  nitroglycerine  he 
could  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  have  that  metal  door 
blown  away.  Or  with  a  strong  enough  current  he 
could  corrode  away  its  lock  bars  by  electrolysis,  or 
with  a  forced  acetylene  flame  cut  away  its  lock-dial. 
But  such  procedure  was  not  in  keeping  with  either  his 
awls  or  his  aims.  He  knew  that  his  attack  could  not 
le  one  of  force. 

He  suddenly  turned,  crossed  the  studio,  and  stepped 
quietly  out  to  the  entrance  door,  making  sure  that  it 
was  locked.  Then  he  returned  to  the  studio,  took  off 
Ms  coat,  and  went  to  the  large  worktable  in  the  centre 
of  the  room. 

There  he  took  a  huge  sheet  of  draughting  paper, 
twisting  it  about  into  the  shape  of  a  cone.  He  secured 
it  in  this  shape  with  liquid  glue  from  the  smaller  table, 
fashioning  it  with  a  flap  lip  at  the  larger  end.  This 
Kp  he  in  turn  glued  to  the  safe-front,  over  the  tumbler, 
to  the  left  of  the  combination  dial,  holding  it  there 
until  the  glue  hardened.  The  pointed  apex  of  the 
«one  he  carefully  cut  away  with  a  pair  of  scissors, 
leaving  it  standing  out  from  the  safe-front  like  a  huge 
speaking-trumpet. 

When  he  knelt  before  the  safe  again,  however,  it 
icas  his  ear  and  not  his  mouth  which  he  pressed  closely 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  17 

against  the  open  apex  of  the  draughting  paper 
trumpet.  His  ear,  even  without  the  aid  of  this 
roughly  improvised  microphone,  was  one  of  the  most 
sensitive  of  organs.  But  now,  through  even  that  thick 
wall  of  steel,  he  could  hear  the  soft  click  of  the  tumblers 
and  the  noise  of  the  dial  as  he  worked  the  combination. 
He  knew  the  possible  permutations,  and  he  tried  them, 
one  after  the  other,  listening  always  for  the  deeper 
sound  when  a  lock-tumbler  had  engaged. 

It  was  expert  work,  and  it  called  into  play  both  the 
patience  and  the  delicacy  of  touch  of  an  expert.  Yet 
it  was  a  full  half-hour  before  Kestner  had  mastered 
the  combination,  and  throwing  back  the  lock-bars, 
swung  the  heavy  safe-door  open. 

He  was  confronted,  as  he  had  half-expected,  by  an 
array  of  innocent-looking  engravings  and  art  prints. 
Behind  these  again  was  a  litter  of  artist's  proofs  and 
etchings,  such  as  might  have  been  gathered  together 
by  any  collector  wandering  about  the  quays  and  shops 
of  Paris. 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  his  watch,  and  then  turned 
and  worked  his  way  deeper  into  the  vault.  He  worked 
rapidly  now,  impressed  by  the  discovery  that  time  was 
more  than  precious. 

In  an  inner  drawer,  which  he  was  reluctantly  forced 
to  pry  open,  he  found  a  trayful  of  photographic 
plates,  and  under  them  a  small  old-fashioned  mother- 
of-pearl  writing-desk.  The  lock  of  this  desk  he  was 
able  to  pick.  Inside,  under  a  scattering  of  letters  and 
tradesmen's  bills,  he  unearthed  a  number  of  neatly 
baled  packages.  Still  again  he  showed  no  hesitation 
as  he  tore  the  wrapper  from  the  first  of  these. 


18  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

He  knew,  the  next  moment,  that  his  search  had  been 
at  least  partially  rewarded.  He  held  in  his  hand  a 
package  of  American  yellow-backs.  In  denomination 
they  were  all  "  tens."  The  next  package,  the  same  in 
size,  was  made  up  of  notes  in  the  denomination  of  "  one 
hundred."  Still  the  next  was  a  twenty-dollar  note, 
and  then  came  more  packages,  of  the  "  tens,"  and  still 
more  of  the  "  one  hundreds." 

Kestner  turned  these  packages  over,  studiously  de- 
ciding that  each  package  must  hold  at  least  three  hun- 
dred bills.  He  qualified  that  estimate,  however,  for 
he  could  see  that  the  bills  were  not  new.  They  all 
carried  the  ear-marks  of  age  and  wear.  It  was  to 
determine  whether  they  had  been  mechanically  abraded 
and  worn  that  he  drew  one  of  the  bills  from  the  package 
and  carried  it  to  the  centre  of  the  room  under  the  more 
direct  light  from  the  skylight  above.  He  warned  him- 
self, as  he  did  so,  that  he  had  not  yet  found  the  plates, 
and  the  plates  were  the  one  thing  that  he  wanted,  that 
he  must  have. 

Kestner  was  familiar  enough  with  counterfeiting  in 
all  its  forms.  In  his  work  as  roving  agent  for  the 
Treasury  Department  he  stumbled  across  more  coun- 
terfeit money  than  did  any  bank-teller  in  America. 
He  knew  his  currency  as  a  mother  knows  the  faces  of 
her  children.  He  knew  genuine  "  paper  "  instinctively, 
without  hesitation  or  analysis.  He  could,  in  the  same 
way  as  instinctively  detect  fraudulent  "  paper."  He 
did  so  without  conscious  thought,  by  some  vague  sixth 
sense,  a  gift  that  was  not  altogether  feeling  and  not 
altogether  the  sense  of  sight.  Even  before  the  micro- 
scope was  put  over  a  counterfeit  and  the  line  of  diver- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  19 

gence  was  established  —  for  somewhere  there  was 
always  a  line  of  divergence !  —  he  knew  in  his  own  mind 
that  a  given  note  was  spurious. 

He  had  long  known,  too,  both  the  tricks  and  the 
limitations  of  the  counterfeiter,  the  bleaching  and 
raising,  the  camel-hair  brush  work,  the  splitting  and 
pasting,  the  hand-engraving  on  steel,  and  the  photo- 
graphic reproducing.  He  knew  that  the  camera  work 
was  always  flat  and  weak,  no  matter  how  artfully 
retouched  and  tooled  over.  He  likewise  knew  that 
the  governmental  lathe-work  on  a  note  was  a  series  of 
curves  and  shadings  and  backgrounds  mathematical 
in  their  precision  and  unvarying  in  pattern.  No 
human  hand  could  duplicate  the  nicety  of  that  machine- 
engraving,  each  line  unvarying  and  unbroken  from  end 
to  end.  And  since  these  machines  cost  well  upward  of 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  their  manufacture 
and  sales  were  closely  inspected,  no  counterfeiter  could 
be  expected  to  possess  one. 

Yet  as  Kestner  stood  in  the  late  afternoon  light  that 
streamed  into  the  silent  studio  and  held  his  newly  found 
yellow-back  up  before  him,  he  could  not  restrain  a 
rather  solemn  gasp  of  admiration. 

The  note  seemed  a  perfect  one.  It  was  on  the  first 
Colonial  National,  of  the  series  of  1909.  It  carried 
the  Check  Letter  "  C,"  and  the  Charter  Number  of 
8939. 

Kestner's  first  thought  was  as  to  the  paper  itself. 
It  was  genuine  bond,  of  good  quality  and  weight,  and 
the  closest  approximation  to  the  "  safety  paper  "  of 
the  American  Bank  Note  Company  that  he  had  yet 
encountered.  It  did  not  strike  him  as  being  two 


20  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

thinner  sheets  pasted  together,  although  he  could 
plainly  see  the  silk-fibre  in  the  actual  tissue  of  the 
paper.  How  his  government's  secret  process  had  been 
so  successfully  imitated  he  could  not  at  the  moment 
tell.  But  as  he  turned  over  the  note  he  saw  that  the 
engraving  had  been  as  expert  a  piece  of  work  as  the 
paper-making  itself. 

He  saw  at  once  it  was  not  a  mere  photo-etching 
process,  later  tooled  out  by  hand,  for  every  line  of  the 
lathe-work  was  clear-cut,  and  every  touch  of  colour  on 
the  vignette  was  sharp  and  full.  Even  the  cross- 
hatching  had  been  worked  out  with  infinite  detail  and 
patience.  And  equally  good  was  the  colouring  of  the 
border-backs. 

It  took  but  a  moment  to  establish  the  fact  that  the 
note  had  been  printed  in  waterproof  ink  and  not 
superimposed  with  a  wash-pigment  and  camel-hair 
brush.  Equally  convincing-looking  were  the  denomi- 
nation counters. 

It  was,  in  fact,  not  one  especial  feature  of  the  note 
that  won  Kestner's  admiration.  It  was  the  beauty 
and  authoritativeness  of  the  bill  as  a  whole,  even  to 
the  "  ageing  "  oil-wash  to  which  it  had  been  subjected 
and  the  mechanically  abraded  surface  and  artfully 
frayed  edges. 

He  folded  up  the  bill  and  thrust  it  down  in  his  vest 
pocket,  chucklingly  anticipating  Wilsnach's  stare  of 
incredulity  when  it  should  be  passed  under  the  letter's 
inspection.  Then  Kestner  stepped  briskly  back  to 
the  open  safe,  dropping  on  his  knees  and  reaching  in 
for  the  next  package,  the  one  of  large  denomination. 
It  came  home  to  him,  as  he  did  so,  that  here  lay  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  21 

source  and  origin  of  what  might  indeed  prove  a  tidal- 
wave  of  illicit  money,  that  here,  indeed,  lay  the  means 
of  debauching  and  imperilling  the  currency  of  an  entire 
country. 

Then  he  stopped  short,  still  kneeling  there,  anfi 
scarcely  breathing. 

It  was  just  as  his  fingers  had  closed  about  the  second 
package  that  he  heard  that  first  small  noise  behind 
him.  It  sounded  like  the  diminished  thud  of  an  outer 
door  being  softly  closed.  A  second  and  nearer  soux>4, 
that  of  an  inaudible  gasp,  brought  him  wheeling  abosafc 
on  one  knee.  He  did  not  rise,  but  his  hand  shot  dow* 
to  his  hip,  where  his  automatic  always  rested  in  its 
specially  padded  pocket. 

"  Not  this  time,  honey-boy ! "  cried  a  firm  if  some- 
what nasal  young  voice. 

Facing  him,  with  her  back  against  the  closed  door 
of  the  studio,  was  a  woman  who  could  not  have  been 
more  than  twenty-four  or  twenty-five  years  of  age. 
She  had  a  pert  young  face,  with  a  short  nose,  a  re- 
bellious and  slightly  heavy-lipped  mouth,  and  a  row  of 
singularly  white  and  singularly  large  teeth. 

Kestner  noted  that  she  wore  the  small  tiptilted  hat 
affected  by  the  Parisienne  of  the  moment.  He  further 
noted  that  she  was  startlingly  well  dressed,  and  that  in 
this  attire  she  had  attempted  to  approach  the  chicness 
of  the  native.  Yet  it  was  plain  to  see,  for  all  her 
exotic  raiment,  that  she  was  American  to  the  finger- 
tips. 

But  Kestner's  mind  did  not  dwell  on  these  points. 
His  attention  was  directed  to  the  fact  that  in  her  right 
hand  she  held  a  hammerless  Colt,  and  that  the  barrel 


22  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

of  this  hammer-less  Colt  was  pointed  unequivocally  at 
tis  own  head. 

He  did  not  like  the  idea  of  that  Colt,  for  there  was 
a  calm  audacity  about  the  young  woman  in  the  tip- 
tilted  hat  that  left  the  next  possibility  a  matter  of 
rather  painful  conjecture. 

"  Put  'em  up ! "  commanded  the  girl,  taking  a  step 
or  two  nearer  him,  "  and  put  'em  up  quick !  " 

Kestner  assumed  that  she  meant  his  hands  at  the 
same  moment  that  he  decided  it  to  be  expedient  to  do 
as  she  ordered. 

"  Now  stand  up !  "  said  the  girl. 

The  audacious  grey-green  eyes  looked  him  over. 
Then  the  owner  of  the  audacious  eyes  sighed  audibly. 

"  Gee,  an'  you  an  Amurrican !  An'  gotta  pass  away 
so  many  miles  from  home." 

"  Oh,  put  that  thing  down ! "  cried  the  impatient 
Kestner,  for  his  attitude  was  not  a  comfortable  one. 

The  girl  laughed.  But  the  ever-menacing  revolver 
remained  where  it  was. 

"  No,  honey-child,  not  on  your  life ! "  She  took 
still  another  step  nearer  him.  "  Don't  you  s'pose  I've 
got  me  home  an'  mother  to  purtect?  No  sir-ee,  not  on 
your  retouched  negative !  " 

**  Then  what  do  you  intend  doing?  "  asked  Kestner. 
He  risked  the  movement,  as  he  spoke,  of  calmly  folding 
his  arms. 

Her  face  hardened,  for  a  second,  as  she  saw  the 
movement.  But  on  second  thought  she  seemed  to  ac- 
cept the  new  position  as  one  sufficiently  safe. 

"  You  don't  dream  you're  goin'  to  get  out  o'  here 
alive,  do  you  ?  "  innocently  demanded  the  girl. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  23 

"  Why  not  ?  "  questioned  Kestner.  He  was  watch- 
ing her  closely,  every  second  of  the  time.  And  she,  in 
turn,  was  watching  him  as  closely.  His  sense  of  com- 
fort did  not  increase.  Yet  the  look  of  fixed  som- 
nolence still  hung  about  his  eyes. 

The  girl  did  not  answer  him,  for  at  that  moment  the 
further  studio  swung  open  and  with  a  quick  movement 
a  man  stepped  inside. 

Kestner  liked  neither  that  man  nor  his  unheralded 
intrusion.  The  newcomer  stood  there,  a  little  breath- 
less, as  though  he  had  been  conscious  of  danger  im- 
pending and  had  raced  up  the  stairs.  He  was  an  olive- 
skinned,  square-shouldered  man  of  about  thirty,  with 
close-set  eyes,  seal-brown  in  colour.  While  he  was  in 
no  way  conspicuous  as  to  attire,  there  was  both 
audacity  and  cunning  in  those  calm  and  ever-searching 
eyes.  Kestner  knew,  even  before  the  girl  spoke,  that 
this  was  the  Neapolitan  called  Morello. 

"  Got  your  gink  for  you,  Tony !  "  said  the  girl,  with 
a  look  of  relief,  clearly  at  the  thought  of  a  con- 
federate's advent. 

That  confederate,  however,  still  stood  by  the  door, 
alert  and  non-committal.  It  was  several  moments  be- 
fore he  spoke. 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  he  asked,  tensely,  yet  without 
moving,  and  all  the  while  studying  the  face  of  Kestner.. 

"  That's  what  we're  goin'  to  squeeze  out  o'  him," 
was  the  girl's  reply. 

Kestner  noticed  that  the  Neapolitan  spoke  English 
without  a  trace  of  accent.  He  also  noticed  the  expres- 
sion in  the  seal-brown  eyes  as  they  turned  and  studied 
the  open  safe. 


24  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  What  did  he  get?  "  asked  Morello. 

*'  You  mean,  what's  he  gain'  to  get !  "  cried  the  girl, 
with  her  curt  laugh.  She  did  not  lower  her  fire-arm 
as  the  newcomer  stepped  towards  the  centre  of  the 
room. 

"  Tony,"  she  suddenly  called  out,  "  this  guy's 
heeled.  Get  his  gun !  " 

She  herself  stepped  still  closer  to  Kestner  as  she 
spoke,  holding  her  revolver  so  that  it  pointed  directly 
at  his  upper  left-hand  vest-pocket.  On  the  whole, 
Kestner  saw  with  dampening  spirits,  they  were  two 
extremely  capable  and  clear-witted  individuals. 

So  capable  were  they,  in  fact,  that  their  prisoner 
stood  silent  and  helpless,  with  a  revolver-barrel  within 
a  yard  of  his  heart,  while  the  quick-fingered  Neapolitan 
explored  and  felt  about  Kestner's  clothing.  He  emit- 
ted a  faint  grunt  of  satisfaction  as  he  drew  the  auto- 
matic from  its  padded  hip-pocket. 

"  What  next  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  stepped  back  with 
the  revolver  in  his  hand. 

"  Pull  out  that  old  oak  chair,  the  one  with  the  high 
back,"  commanded  the  girl.  "  Then  get  that  bunch  o' 
picture-cord  from  the  top  shelf  there." 

Morello  did  as  directed.  But  the  girl,  all  the  while, 
kept  her  eyes  on  Kestner.  His  sustained  air  of  com- 
posure seemed  to  worry  her. 

"  Now  you  back  up,"  she  commanded,  with  sudden 
roughness.  "  Back  up !  Right  back  until  you're 
sittin'  in  that  chair !  " 

Kestner  turned  and  looked  at  the  heavy  fauteuil  of 
carved  oak.  A  suspicion  of  what  their  intentions  were 
crept  over  him. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  35 

"  Supposing  I  don't  care  to?  "  he  ventured. 

The  girl  confronted  him  with  a  show  of  anger. 

"  Look  here,  Mister  Pretty-man,  you've  put  yourself 
in  Dutch  an'  you're  goin5  to  do  what  I  sayl  D'  you 
get  me?  Poke  him  into  that  chair,  Tony,  and  poke 
him  quick ! " 

Kestner  sat  down  with  a  sigh.  The  sleepy  and  half- 
amused  smile  was  still  on  his  face.  He  was  still  watch- 
ing for  his  chance. 

The  smile  disappeared,  however,  before  the  unlocked 
for  and  lightning-like  movement  of  Morello.  That 
worthy  suddenly  garroted  his  captive's  head  against 
the  fauteuil  back  while  the  girl  promptly  and  securely 
tied  his  wrists  to  the  chair-arms.  His  ankles  were  also 
made  fast  in  the  same  way,  and  all  were  for  the  second 
time  wrapped  and  reinforced  with  many  yards  of  the 
heavy  crimson  cord.  Then  his  neck  was  released  and 
he  could  breathe  quite  freely  again. 

There  was  now  something  more  than  a  look  of  con- 
cern on  the  face  of  that  sleepy-eyed  captive.  Deep 
down  in  his  heart  was  a  vast  rage  at  the  indignities  to 
which  his  body  had  been  subjected.  And  when  the 
time  came,  he  inwardly  vowed,  some  one  would  pay  for 
those  outrages.  He  was  still  straining  uselessly  at 
the  cords  holding  him  when  he  heard  a  quick  cry  from 
the  girl. 

"  Thank  Gawd,  here's  the  Governor !  "  she  said  over 
her  shoulder,  as  she  helped  Morello  with  the  final  knots. 


m 

THE  studio-door  opened  quietly  and  the  same 
austere  and  self-contained  man  who  had  sat  at  the  cafe 
table  stepped  into  the  room. 

There  was  no  visible  change  of  facial  expression  as 
his  eye  swept  the  studio  and  at  one  circling  glance 
seemed  to  take  in  every  detail  of  the  situation. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  was  his  final  curt  demand. 

"  We  caught  this  guy  rubberin'  into  our  safe,"  was 
the  girl's  answer.  She  stepped  over  and  swung  half- 
shut  the  steel  door  to  which  still  clung  Kestner's  sound- 
ing-tube of  pasteboard.  "  And,  say,  Governor,  he 
ain't  no  sandpaper  artist,  either !  " 

Kestner  saw  it  was  time  to  talk. 

"  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me,  Lambert,"  he  began,  in 
that  clear  and  steady  note  of  authority  which  his  office 
could  at  times  give  to  him. 

"  Shut  up !  "  was  Lambert's  command. 

"  No ;  I'll  not  shut  up !  We've  got  something  to 
talk  out  here,  and  — '* 

"  Gag  him,  Tony ! "  cried  Lambert,  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture  towards  the  door  at  the  far  end  of  the 
studio. 

Morello  stepped  through  this  door,  and  promptly 
stepped  back  into  the  room  with  a  towel  in  his  hands. 
This  towel  he  quickly  tore  in  two,  knotting  the  two 
pieces  together  as  he  approached  the  chair  where 

Kestner  sat. 

26 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  £7 

"  There's  no  need  to  do  this,  Lam  — " 

Kestner's  cry  was  shut  off  by  the  towel  with  the 
tightened  knot  being  dexterously  tossed  over  his  head 
and  drawn  taut,  so  taut  that  the  pressure  of  the  knot 
on  his  lips  became  unendurable.  Involuntarily  the 
jaws  relaxed,  to  relieve  the  pain. 

"  Tighter !  "  commanded  Lambert.  The  band,  now 
against  the  slightly  parted  teeth,  was  tightened  and 
securely  knotted  at  the  back  of  the  captive's  head. 

It  was  then  that  the  man  designated  as  the  Governor 
stepped  quietly  back  and  closed  the  door  which  he  had 
left  partly  open.  Then  he  stood  in  silent  thought  for 
a  moment  or  two. 

It  was  the  girl  in  the  tip-tilted  hat  who  spoke  first. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  givin'  him  a  crack  on  the 
coco?  "  she  gravely  volunteered.  "  Put  'im  to  sleep 
until  we're  dead  sure  of  a  get-away?  " 

The  man  called  the  Governor  did  not  seem  to  hear 
her. 

"  Tony,"  he  suddenly  said  with  a  crisp  and  in- 
cisive authority,  "  take  that  gun  from  Cherry.  Now 
hand  me  that  automatic.  Keep  that  man  covered. 
If  anything  happens,  plug  him  where  he  sits.  If  any 
one  tries  to  get  in  here,  plug  him  first, —  him  first,  re- 
member. Cherry,  you  frisk  him !  I  want  everything, 
everything,  mind  you,  out  of  his  pockets." 

The  girl,  with  a  small  frown  of  intentness,  bent  over 
the  heavy  oak  fauteuU  and  went  through  Kestner's 
pockets,  one  at  a  time.  The  man  called  the  Governor 
stood  in  deep  thought  as  she  did  so. 

As  she  placed  the  fruits  of  her  search  upon  the 
drawing-table  to  the  left  the  older  man  stepped  over 


28  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

and  examined  the  little  collection.  He  looked  up 
quickly  as  he  came  to  the  neatly  folded  bank-note. 

"So  you  wanted  only  one?  "  he  said,  and  the  grim 
lines  about  his  mouth  hardened  a  little  as  he  stared  at 
Kestner.  Then  he  bent  over  the  drawing-table  again. 

"  Tell  Maura  to  come  here,"  he  said,  with  a  quick 
motion  towards  the  girl  in  the  tip-tilted  hat.  He  was 
studying  a  sheet  of  writing  which  had  been  taken  from 
Kestner's  pocket. 

"  Where'll  I  get  her?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Downstairs  in  Bennoit's.     Promptly,  please !  " 

The  girl  slipped  out  through  the  studio-door,  and 
closed  it  after  her.  Kestner  sat  there  and  watched 
Lambert  wheel  a  projecting-lantern  out  into  the  middle 
of  the  studio  and  direct  the  lens  towards  the  screen  of 
white  cotton  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  He  saw 
the  sheet  of  paper  inserted  in  the  lens,  heard  the  snap 
of  a  switch,  and  black  across  the  white  screen  beheld 
his  own  signature,  magnified  many  times,  magnified 
until  each  letter  was  at  least  a  foot  in  height. 

Morello,  tired  of  standing,  sank  into  a  chair,  facing 
the  prisoner.  In  his  hand,  however,  the  Neapolitan 
still  held  the  revolver,  and  never  for  a  moment  did  his 
gaze  wander  from  Kestner. 

Lambert,  going  back  to  the  drawing-table,  suddenly 
turned  and  crossed  to  the  open  safe.  His  search  there 
seemed  a  brief  one.  But  his  face  paled  as  he 
turned  and  stood  erect  again.  He  was  still  beside  the 
safe  when  the  girl  called  Cherry  stepped  back  into  the 
room.  She  was  followed  by  the  woman  Lambert  had 
spoken  of  as  Maura,  the  woman  whom  Kestner  had 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  29 

watched  as  she  sat  at  the  little  round  table  of  the  Cafe 
de  la  Paix. 

Kestner's  intent  gaze  was  fixed  on  this  woman's  face 
as  she  stepped  into  the  room.  More  than  ever  he  was 
struck  by  its  sense  of  reserve,  of  spiritual  isolation, 
and  more  than  ever  he  was  impressed  by  its  youthful 
yet  austere  beauty.  He  was  struck,  too,  by  a  newer 
note,  by  something  that  seemed  almost  a  touch  of 
fragility.  And  about  the  softer  lines  of  the  mouth  he 
detected  a  trace  of  latent  rebelliousness. 

The  newcomer,  however,  scarcely  looked  at  Kestner. 
The  sight  of  a  man  tied  and  trussed  and  gagged  there 
seemed  in  no  wise  to  disturb  her.  Her  eyes  went  close 
to  the  face  of  Lambert  and  remained  there  while  she 
spoke. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  in  a  clear  and  reedy  voice 
that  made  Kestner  think  of  a  clarionet. 

Lambert  waved  a  hand  towards  the  signature  thrown 
on  the  screen  by  the  projecting  lantern. 

"  Try  that,  freehand,"  he  said.  "  Then  do  it  over 
again  on  the  tracing-desk.  I  want  it  right." 

The  woman  took  paper  and  ink  and  from  a  row  of 
pens  selected  a  particular  point.  She  stared  for  a  few 
seconds  at  the  signature,  and  then  bent  over  her  task. 

She  did  not  speak  as  she  handed  the  slip  of  paper  to 
Lambert.  He  took  it,  too,  in  silence,  switching  off  his 
lantern,  withdrawing  Kestner's  signature,  and  adjust- 
ing the  newly  written  imitation  in  its  place.  Then  he 
switched  on  the  light  again. 

Even  Kestner,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  cleverest 
of  forgeries,  was  plainly  startled  as  he  saw  that  name 


30  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

projected  on  the  cotton  screen.  It  disturbed  him  in  a 
manner  which  he  would  have  found  hard  to  describe. 
For  even  in  its  magnified  form,  where  any  deviation 
from  the  original  would  be  doubly  and  trebly  accen- 
tuated, it  stood  out  a  practically  perfect  facsimile 
of  his  own  handwriting. 

This  quiet-mannered  woman  with  the  violet-blue  eyes 
and  the  misleading  delicacy  of  Dresden  china  was  one 
of  the  most  accomplished  forgers  who  ever  handled  a 
pen.  That  much  Kestner  could  see  at  a  glance.  And 
at  a  second  glance  it  came  home  to  him  that  this  same 
woman,  in  the  right  hands,  could  indeed  develop  into 
an  actual  peril  to  society. 

"  Try  tracing  it,"  Lambert  was  saying  to  her. 

She  took  the  Kestner  signature  and  crossed  to  a 
small  table,  the  top  of  which  consisted  of  plate  glass. 
She  reached  in  under  this  glass  and  turned  a  switch. 
The  moment  she  did  so  a  powerful  electric  light  showed 
itself  directly  below  the  table-top. 

On  this  top  she  placed  the  paper,  covered  by  a  second 
sheet.  Then  she  tested  a  number  of  pens,  and  having 
found  one  to  her  purpose,  carried  on  a  similar  test 
with  regard  to  her  ink.  Then  for  a  silent  moment  or 
two  she  bent  over  her  task. 

Lambert  took  the  paper  from  her  when  she  had 
finished.  This  time  he  placed  the  three  signatures  in 
the  lens  and  threw  them  on  the  screen,  one  above  the 
other. 

Kestner,  studying  the  three,  could  not  be  sure  which 
was  his  own  and  which  were  the  imitations.  The  other 
occupants  of  the  room,  he  noticed,  were  studying  the 
letters  quite  as  intently  as  he  had  done. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  31 

It  was  the  girl  called  Cherry  who  spoke  first. 

"  Take  it  from  me,"  she  said  with  sudden  convic- 
tion, "  the  freehand  wins !  " 

Lambert  turned  to  the  woman  who  had  done  the 
writing. 

"  Your  tracing  is  stiff  to-day.  .What's  the  mat- 
ter? " 

The  question  remained  unanswered  for  several 
seconds.  The  troubled  violet-blue  eyes  moved  from 
the  screen  to  the  man  in  the  fauteuil  and  then  back  to 
the  screen  again. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  this  means,"  she  finally  de- 
clared. 

Lambert  stepped  quickly  across  the  room.  For  a 
man  of  his  years  and  a  career  such  as  his  that  gaunt 
old  counterfeiter  retained  a  startling  degree  of  virility. 

"  You'll  find  that  out  quick  enough,"  was  his  half 
impatient  retort.  He  tossed  the  papers  he  had  with- 
drawn from  the  lens  across  the  table  and  motioned  for 
her  to  be  seated. 

"  Take  half  a  sheet  of  that  bond  and  write  what  I 
tell  you.  I  want  it  done  in  the  handwriting  of  that 
signature,  and  I  want  it  done  right.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  I'm  ready,"  answered  the  woman.  She  spoke  in 
the  flat  and  lifeless  tones  of  a  coerced  child. 

"  Then  write  this :  '  I  have  made  a  mess  of  things, 
and  I  am  tired  of  life.  I'm  sorry,  but  this  seems  the 
only  way  out.'  Then  add  the  signature.  No ;  wait  a 
minute.  Add  this :  *  The  finder  will  please  notify  the 
American  Embassy,  where  the  secretary,  I  trust,  will 
cable  the  Treasury  Department  at  Washington.' 
Have  you  got  that  ?  " 


W,  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL1 

The  woman  at  the  table  went  on  writing  for  a 
second  or  two. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  with  her  head  a  little  on  one 
side  as  she  studied  the  sheet  in  front  of  her. 

"  Then  we'll  put  it  on  the  slide  and  see  how  it  looks," 
answered  Lambert.  He  took  the  sheet  from  her, 
adjusted  it  in  the  lantern,  and  turned  on  the  light. 

An  undeniable  tingle  crept  up  and  down  Kestner's 
backbone  as  he  read  the  words  on  the  screen.  It  was, 
to  the  eye,  his  own  handwriting.  It  would  and  could 
be  accepted  as  his  own.  Not  one  person  in  a  thousand 
would  even  stop  to  question  its  authenticity. 

The  woman  named  Maura,  who  had  been  supporting 
herself  with  one  hand  on  the  end  of  the  table,  turned 
and  faced  Lambert. 

"  Are  you  going  to  kill  him  ?  " 

It  was  spoken  so  quietly  that  Kestner  could  scarcely 
hear  it.  But  the  last  of  the  colour  had  gone  from  the 
woman's  face,  and  her  eyes,  as  she  spoke,  took  on  an 
animal-like  translucence. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  was  Lambert's  calm  retort,  "  he 
is  going  to  kill  himself." 

"  Why  ?  "  demanded  the  woman. 

"  Because,  as  he  himself  says,  he's  tired  of  living. 
He  confesses  that  in  this  paper  he's  leaving  behind. 
And  he's  proved  it  by  invading  our  home  the  way  he 
did.  Homes  have  to  be  protected.  And  I  intend  to 
protect  mine." 

"  You're  not  protecting  it,"  she  contended. 

"  Well,  I'm  making  a  stab  at  it  —  and  a  stab  at 
saving  your  neck  at  the  same  time ! " 

"  Oh,  what's  the  good  of  all  this ! "  cried  the  white- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  S3 

faced  woman,  with  a  gesture  of  both  protest  and  repu- 
diation. For  the  second  time  Kestner  saw  the  lines 
about  Lambert's  mouth  harden.  There  was  no  doubt 
of  his  domination  in  that  little  circle. 

"  It's  necessary,  and  that's  enough.  You've  done 
your  part,  now,  Tony  and  I  will  do  ours." 

"  But  you  can't  kill  a  man  in  cold  blood, —  you 
can't ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  shaking  with  a  vibrato,  of 
horror. 

"  I've  already  told  you,"  retorted  Lambert,  quite 
untouched  by  her  outburst,  "  that  he's  going  to  do  the 
thing  himself !  " 

"  Himself?  " 

"  He's  going  to  hold  his  own  gun,  and  pull  his  own 
trigger  with  his  own  finger.  And  to  make  sure  it's 
his  own  act,  he's  even  going  to  hold  that  gun  in  his 
mouth,  pointing  upward  and  backward !  " 

He  met  her  staring  eyes  without  a  moment's  flinch- 
ing. 

"  Tony,  of  course,  may  help  him  a  trifle,  but  that's 
our  business.  There's  one  too  many  in  this  game. 
And  it's  too  big  a  game  to  drop  now.  Somebody  has 
to  step  down  and  out." 

"  But  you  can't  do  this ! "  she  still  protested. 

Lambert  turned  on  her. 

"  Can  you  suggest  something  better?  "  was  his  quick 
and  half -mo  eking  demand. 

She  looked  from  Kestner  to  Lambert,  and  then  back 
at  the  man  so  securely  tied  down  to  the  huge  oak 
fauteuil. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  Well,"  mocked  Lambert.     "  Out  with  it." 


34  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  If  this  man  knows  what  you  hint  he  knows,  we 
can't  stay  in  Paris." 

"  Naturally  not." 

"  But  whatever  he  knows,  or  whoever  he  is,  he  can't 
be  acting  alone." 

"  I  fail  to  see  his  friends,  at  the  moment." 

"  But  there  must  be  others,  others  who  — " 

"  But  we've  got  him!  " 

"  Yes,  you've  got  him  —  precisely.  You've  got  him 
there,  and  he'll  be  safe  there  for  at  least  several  hours  ! " 

"  How  about  us?  " 

(i  Those  few  hours  are  all  we  need.  We  can  leave 
him  as  he  is.  By  that  time  we  can  be  —  be  wherever 
you  say." 

Lambert  and  Morello  did  not  openly  and  patently 
exchange  glances ;  but  the  watching  Kestner  knew  that 
a  silent  message  had  been  given  out  by  one  and  re- 
ceived by  the  other. 

"  All  right,"  suddenly  acquiesced  the  older  man. 
"  Go  and  get  your  things  together  —  and  remember, 
we've  got  to  travel  light !  " 

He  nodded  towards  the  woman  called  Cherry. 
*'  And  you  do  the  same.  But  I  want  you  both  to  move 
quick ! " 

The  woman  called  Cherry  stepped  towards  the 
door.  But  the  more  resolute-eyed  woman  still  hesi- 
tated. She  seemed  to  have  her  doubts  as  to  Lam- 
bert's promises.  The  latter,  however,  was  not  in  a 
mood  to  endure  equivocations. 

"  I  said  I  wanted  you  to  move  quick ! "  was  the 
sharp  and  sudden  cry. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  35 

She  stood  there,  staring  at  him,  almost  challeng- 
ingly  at  first.  Then  her  eyes  fell,  as  though  worsted 
in  that  silent  duel  of  wills.  She  started  to  speak,  hesi- 
tated, and  remained  silent.  Then  she  turned  slowly 
about  and  walked  quietly  out  of  the  room. 

The  moment  she  was  gone  Lambert's  manner 
changed.  He  moved  with  a  celerity  surprising  in  one 
of  his  years. 

"  Now,  Tony,  quick  —  get  the  notes  into  that  bag 
of  yours.  And  the  plates.  We  must  have  every 
plate,  remember ! "  He  was  himself  busy  going 
through  the  drawers  of  one  of  the  work-tables  as  he 
talked.  "  Never  mind  the  other  stuff  —  that  will  take 
time.  And  there's  been  too  much  time  wasted  here 
already." 

Lambert  snapped  shut  the  club  bag  into  which  he 
had  been  cramming  the  different  things  caught  up 
from  the  rummaged  drawers.  Then  he  stepped 
quickly  to  the  door,  listened  for  a  moment,  and  crossed 
to  Kestner's  side.  The  expression  on  his  face  was 
extremely  disturbing  to  the  man  in  the  high-backed 
chair. 

"  So  you  work  alone,  Monsieur  Kestner ! "  he  said 
with  a  cold  smile  of  mockery.  "  You  come  after  us 
singlehanded !  I  admire  your  courage,  sir,  but  I  de- 
plore your  lack  of  judgment !  " 

With  his  left  hand,  as  he  spoke,  he  deftly  cut  the 
gag  which  held  apart  Kestner's  aching  jaws.  With 
his  right  hand  at  the  same  instant,  he  reached  down 
into  his  pocket  and  brought  forth  the  girl's  sombre- 
looking  hammerless  Colt.  With  an  equally  quick 


S6  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

movement  he  cut  the  cord  holding  Kestner's  right  wrist 
so  firmly  down  to  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

Before  Kestner  could  cry  out,  before  even  he  could 
raise  that  throbbing  and  stiffened  right  arm,  Lambert 
had  caught  him  by  the  hand,  forced  the  prisoner's  fin- 
gers about  the  grip  of  the  revolver,  and  covered  those 
flaccid  fingers  with  his  own  muscular  and  bony  hand. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  forced  up  Kestner's  inert 
right  forearm  that  the  Secret  Agent  fully  awakened  to 
the  imminence  of  his  peril.  As  always,  he  had  counted 
on  some  intervention,  on  some  moment  of  relaxed  vigi- 
lance when  his  chance  should  come.  But  here  there 
seemed  to  be  no  chance. 

He  saw,  in  a  flash,  what  it  all  meant,  and  how 
quickly  it  could  all  be  over.  His  position  was  against 
him.  The  suspended  circulation  of  that  over-bound 
right  arm  was  against  him.  But  still  he  fought, 
fought  every  inch  of  the  way,  with  every  jot  of 
strength  at  his  command. 

The  third  man  stood  watching  the  tableau,  his  im- 
passive and  olive-skinned  face  giving  no  sign  of  height- 
ened emotion  as  the  contending  forces  centralised  in 
those  two  quivering  arms  came  into  the  equilibrium  of 
nicely  matched  strength.  Then  one  arm  weakened  a 
trifle.  The  dark-barrelled  weapon  of  gun-metal  was 
slowly  forced  further  and  further  upward. 

Kestner  knew  quite  well  what  it  meant.  But  he  was 
now  powerless  to  withstand  that  cruel  pressure.  He 
knew  that  the  forefinger  of  that  muscular  hand,  held 
so  firmly  over  his  own,  would  contract  the  moment  the 
barrel  was  levelled  in  the  right  direction.  He  felt  it 
was  all  but  useless  to  cry  out.  Under  no  condition 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  37 

would  he  cry  out.  Yet  at  the  moment  the  revolver 
was  in  a  perpendicular  position,  a  flash  of  hope  came 
to  him. 

It  was  with  that  flash  of  hope  that  he  quickly  and 
deliberately  did  the  unexpected  thing.  He  pulled  on 
the  trigger  with  his  own  finger. 

The  sharp  bark  of  the  revolver  reverberated  through 
the  high-walled  room  as  the  bullet  went  splintering 
into  the  framework  of  the  skylight  overhead.  Kest- 
ner  had  hoped  it  might  crash  through  the  panes  them- 
selves. He  doubted  if  the  sound  of  a  small  calibre 
revolver  would  carry  much  beyond  the  closed  apart- 
ment. 

Yet  that  unexpected  discharge  of  the  fire-arm  star- 
tled Lambert.  The  arm  still  forlornly  straining 
against  his  relentless  upward  pressure  gained  several 
inches  of  precious  space  before  the  struggle  could  be 
renewed.  But  inch  by  quavering  inch  the  fire-arm  was 
again  forced  up. 

"  Tony,"  panted  Lambert,  "  give  me  a  hand !  " 

Kestner  was  only  dimly  conscious  of  the  other  man 
sliding  up  to  him. 

"  Get  his  jaws  apart,"  was  the  next  command 
gasped  out  by  Lambert. 

Kestner  was  conscious  enough  now  of  gross  fingers 
on  his  face,  bruising  his  lips,  of  knuckles  rowelling  the 
cheek-flaps  against  his  clenched  teeth.  And  a  corrod- 
ing wave  of  rage  and  resentment  swept  through  him, 
at  the  ignominy  of  it  all.  Then  he  clenched  his  jaws 
still  closer  together,  in  the  face  of  that  rowelling 
knuckle,  for  at  that  moment  a  second  interruption 
was  taking  place. 


38  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

This  interruption  took  the  form  of  a  door  flung  open 
and  a  white-faced  woman  calling  into  the  studio. 

"  Stop !  "  gasped  the  woman,  as  she  flung  through 
the  door  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

Both  men  looked  up,  a  little  stupidly,  their  mouths 
still  open,  their  postures  still  those  of  strained  muscles 
and  sinews.  Kestner  saw  it  was  the  woman  called 
Maura. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  gasped,  a  little  weakly.  "  We're  be- 
ing watched ! " 

Her  hat  was  awry  of  her  head,  her  veil  was  hanging 
loose,  and  she  was  plainly  out  of  breath. 

"  Quick,"  she  gasped  again,  leaning  against  the  wall ; 
"  there's  a  man  at  every  door !  and  two  gendarmes  are 
on  the  stairs !  Listen !  I  hear  them  coming !  " 

Morello  was  the  first  to  stoop  and  catch  up  his 
handbag.  Lambert's  grip  on  the  prisoner's  arm  re- 
laxed. He  wrenched  the  revolver  from  Kestner's  fin- 
gers, dropped  it  into  his  pocket,  and  darted  for  his 
bag. 

"  Then  the  closet ! "  he  cried  as  he  ran. 

"  Why  the  closet  ?  "  asked  the  bewildered  Neapoli- 
tan. 

"  The  secret  passage,  you  fool ! "  called  Lambert, 
as  he  dove  through  the  door  leading  into  the  second 
closet.  He  was  followed  by  Morello.  Kestner  heard 
the  soft  scrape  and  stutter  of  a  sliding-panel.  It  had 
been  a  piece  of  stupidity,  he  told  himself,  to  overlook 
those  closet-walls. 

"  It  leads  to  the  roof,  and  then  down  through  the 
Poret's  passage,"  explained  the  woman,  still  leaning 
against  the  wall.  She  stood  watching  Kestner  as  he 


worked  frantically  at  the  cord  still  binding  his  left 
arm  down  to  the  heavy  chair. 

"  They're  safe  by  now,"  she  murmured. 

"But  you're  not!"  cried  Kestner,  vindictively,  all 
the  indignities  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  lending 
anger  to  his  voice. 

"  Quite  safe,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  as  she  pro- 
ceeded to  straighten  her  hat  and  then  adjust  the 
heavy  veil  about  its  brim. 

"  Oh,  are  you !  "  cried  the  infuriated  Kestner. 

"  Yes,  monsieur.  There  are  no  men,  and  no  gen- 
darmes" 

"  Then  why  did  you  lie  ?  "  gasped  Kestner. 

She  smiled  a  little  wanly. 

"  They  would  have  shot  you  through  the  head,  mon- 
sieur ! " 

She  had  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  Her  hand 
was  on  the  doorknob  as  she  looked  back. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  we  shall  not  meet  again !  " 

"  One  minute,"  called  Kestner,  imagining  that  by 
hook  or  crook  he  might  delay  her  until  that  fatal  cord 
was  loosened.  "  Pardon  my  asking,  but  how  long  did 
that  plate  take  you  to  make?  " 

"Which  plate?" 

"  That  First  Colonial  Ten." 

Again  he  caught  a  shadow  of  the  wan  and  half 
ironical  smile. 

"  Why  are  you  interested  ?  " 

"  I  shall  always  be  interested  in  you." 

"  That  is  something  you  cannot  afford." 

Their  eyes  met.  They  continued  to  stare  at  each 
other  for  several  seconds. 


40  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  I  think  we  shall  meet  again,"  he  finally  said,  with 
the  utmost  conviction. 

"  Adieu,  monsieur,  for  we  shall  never  meet  again ! " 

"  You  leave  that  to  me ! "  cried  the  defeated  Kest- 
ner,  and  into  those  five  words  he  threw  both  the  bit- 
terness and  the  tenaciousness  born  of  that  momentary 
defeat. 

But  the  woman  had  already  closed  the  door  and 
locked  it  after  her. 


PART  II 
THE  QUARTERS  IN  PALERMO 


IT  was  two  weeks  later  that,  after  the  docking  of  a 
Navigazione  Generate  Italiana  steamer  at  Palermo,  an 
old  woman  wearing  amber-coloured  spectacles  stepped 
solemnly  ashore. 

As  this  old  woman  had  taken  the  pains  to  await 
the  departure  of  all  other  passengers,  and  as  she  car- 
ried only  a  hand-bag  of  the  same  faded  hue  as  her 
attire,  her  visit  to  the  Dogana  was  a  brief  one.  Then, 
for  all  her  humped  shoulders  and  a  somewhat  sidling 
method  o-f  progression  suggestive  of  sciatic  rheuma- 
tism, she  proceeded  with  a  melancholy  briskness  along 
the  Via  del  Molo.  It  was  not  until  she  had  entered  the 
Piazza  Ucciardone  that  she  encountered  an  idle  vet- 
tura. 

After  looking  peevishly  about  her  in  all  directions, 
she  signalled  to  the  driver.  The  dilapidated  vehicle 
swung  about  and  drew  up  beside  her  with  a  mingled 
clatter  of  wheels  and  hooves.  The  long  arm  in  faded 
black  thrust  up  to  the  cabman  a  scratch-pad  on  which 
a  city  address  was  written. 

The  small  and  swarthy  man  of  the  reins,  having 
scrutinised  this  address,  blithely  nodded  his  under- 
standing. Then  he  showed  his  teeth  in  a  still  broader 
grin.  For  his  Saracenic  black  eye  had  swept  the 
dowdy  figure,  noting  the  well-worn  metal  ear-trumpet 

hanging  from  one  arm  by  a  frayed  black  cord,  the 

43 


44  THE  HAND  OF  PERDU 

antiquated  silver-mounted  black  cane,  the  gloves  of 
faded  black  silk,  and  the  shimmer  of  jet  spangles  ar- 
rayed along  the  somewhat  opulent  breast.  He  was 
murmuring  the  all-condoning  word  of  *'  Inglese! " 
when  he  made  note  of  a  further  and  more  compelling 
fact.  The  black-gloved  hand  was  holding  out  to  him 
a  ten  lire  note.  Thereupon,  having  promptly  pock- 
eted the  same,  he  sent  his  long-lashed  Sicilian  whip 
whistling  about  his  pony's  ears  and  his  cab-wheels 
went  rattling  up  through  the  streets  of  the  city. 

Arrived  at  the  desired  address,  his  fare  stepped 
painfully  and  lumberingly  from  the  little  open  cab, 
watched  hesitatingly  until  that  vehicle  was  out  of 
sight,  and  then  rounded  a  corner.  This  eccentric- 
minded  tourist  then  walked  six  doors  southward,  limp- 
ing stolidly  into  the  entrance-court  of  a  grey-stone 
house,  as  silent  and  sepulchral  of  aspect  as  a  mediaeval 
mausoleum. 

Here,  after  being  accosted  by  a  rotund  and  mild- 
eyed  little  man  in  grass  slippers  and  after  writing 
certain  words  on  the  pad  which  she  carried,  the  new- 
comer was  given  a  key  and  instructed,  in  Italian,  to 
mount  the  stairs. 

This  she  did,  unlocking  the  first  door  on  the  left, 
withdrawing  the  key,  and  again  carefully  locking  the 
'door  after  she  had  stepped  inside. 

Once  there,  she  surveyed  the  chamber  with  much 
deliberation.  Then  she  sighed,  took  off  the  amber- 
coloured  glasses,  divested  herself  first  of  the  black  silk 
gloves  and  later  of  the  faded  widow's-bonnet.  Then 
she  placed  her  hand-bag  on  the  bed  beside  them,  con- 
sulted a  watch,  and  with  a  second  deep  sigh  unbut- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  45 

toned  the  jet-spangled  waist  and  groped  about  the 
voluminous  corsage. 

With  a  still  deeper  sigh  the  hand  was  withdrawn, 
bringing  with  it  a  cigar.  A  match  was  struck,  the 
cigar  was  lighted,  and  the  figure  in  dowdy  black  sank 
into  a  chair,  resting  its  boot-heels  high  on  the  end  of 
the  bed. 

Before  six  luxurious  puffs  had  been  taken  at  that 
cigar  a  quiet  knock  sounded  on  the  door.  This  knock 
was  oddly  repeated,  translating  itself  to  the  attentive 
ear  into  a  sort  of  organised  tattoo. 

The  smoker  arose,  crossed  the  room  and  unlocked 
the  door.  Then  he  opened  it,  but  without  showing 
himself.  His  right  hand,  as  he  did  so,  was  thrust 
through  a  slit  in  the  black  silk  skirt,  resting  on  the 
grip  of  a  revolver  half  withdrawn  from  a  padded  hip- 
pocket. 

The  man  who  stepped  into  the  room  exhibited  no 
surprise  at  either  the  scene  or  the  figure  confronting 
him.  Like  the  first-comer,  in  fact,  he  scrutinised  the 
chamber  with  the  utmost  care. 

"  Speak  quietly,"  said  the  first  occupant  of  the 
room  as  he  re-locked  the  door. 

"  You  can  trust  Maresi,"  explained  the  other,  with 
a  head-nod  towards  the  outer  passage. 

"  Then  what's  new  ?  "  was  the  prompt  inquiry. 

"  Nothing  of  importance,"  answered  the  other, 
"  since  my  last  wire." 

"  Anything  of  Lambert  ?  " 

"Not  a  sign!" 

"  Morello?  " 

"  Still  under  cover !  " 


46  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  The  Wirapel  woman?  " 

"  Not  a  trace  of  her  so  far !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"  And  the  other  woman  ?  "  asked  the  man  in  the 
half-demolished  make-up,  "  the  woman  called  Mau- 
ra? " 

The  other  man  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a 
smile. 

"  Has  set  up  a  miniature-painting  studio  on  the 
other  side  of  this  block,  as  I  first  wired  you.  A  show- 
case of  'em  in  the  window!  And  not  even  a  stab  at 
secrecy ! " 

"  And  you  say  she's  put  in  a  telephone  ?  " 

"  The  wiring  goes  to  the  top  of  the  house,  across  a 
couple  of  others,  and  from  there  rounds  south  to  the 
street-main.  I've  traced  it  out.  It  can  be  reached 
from  the  roof  of  this  building ! " 

"  That's  worth  a  mint  to  us,"  murmured  the  other. 
"  And  it  hasn't  been  interfered  with?  " 

"  I  left  that  expert  work  for  you." 

"  Then  the  sooner  we  get  a  loop  in  that  circuit  the 
better ! " 

"  You  may  be  right,  but,  Kestner,  I  think  your  gang 
has  flown  the  coop !  " 

It  was  Wilsnach  who  spoke,  but  not  the  shabby  and 
self-effacing  Wilsnach  of  the  rue  de  la  Paix.  Instead, 
it  was  a  dandified,  edition-de-luxe  Wilsnach  as  a  tour- 
ist in  peg-top  trousers  and  pointed  patent  leathers,  a 
Wilsnach  with  a  waist  line  and  a  waxed  imperial. 

Kestner  pulled  off  the  iron-grey  wig  that  had  been 
making  his  head  uncomfortably  warm. 

"  I  think  you're  wrong,"  he  replied  without  emo- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  47 

fion,  "  and  later  on  I'll  tell  you  why.  But  did  you  get 
the  girl?  " 

"  Yes.     Not  as  young  as  I  wanted,  though." 

"  Where  have  you  quartered  her  ?  " 

"  She's  at  the  Hotel  des  Palmes  with  her  mother." 

"With  her  mother?" 

"  Couldn't  get  her  alone  —  she's  only  twelve.  But 
she's  small  for  her  age.  I  gathered  them  up  in  Taor- 
mina.  The  mother  was  working  at  the  Hotel  Trvnac- 
ria  there.  The  father's  a  German  named  Vandersmis- 
sen,  a  tubercular  chef,  sent  South,  on  his  last  legs. 
They're  glad  of  the  money !  " 

"  But  that  mother !  "  demurred  Kestner. 

"  I've  rigged  the  woman  out  in  a  uniform  as  a  Ger- 
man nurse." 

"And  the  child?" 

"  Is  dolled  up  the  best  the  island  could  do.  Neither 
speak  a  word  of  English.  They're  here  waiting,  meek 
but  mystified.  They'll  do  anything  we  want,  in  rea- 
son. And  she's  a  pretty  kid,  yellow  hair,  blue  eyes, 
German  type.  But  they're  costing  us  sixty  francs  a 
day." 

"They'll  be  worth  it!" 

"  But  what's  your  plan?  " 

"  My  plan  is  simply  this :  Lambert  knows  I'm  after 
him.  He  isn't  quite  sure  how  much  I've  found  out 
about  him  and  this  daughter  of  his.  He  can't  be  cer- 
tain if  he's  shadowed  or  not.  And  that's  what  he 
wants  to  make  sure  of.  So  he's  posted  the  girl  here 
at  this  miniature-painting  business.  He's  made  her 
into  a  wooden  decoy-duck." 

"  But  I  can't  see  what  he  gains  by  that." 


48  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

"  Well,  here's  his  game,  as  I  figure  it  out :  People 
in  hiding  don't  usually  advertise  their  whereabouts. 
They  don't  post  markers.  So  don't  you  see  what 
they're  driving  at?  They  simply  intend  her  for  the 
fly,  and  I  am  the  trout  that's  to  jump  at  it.  They 
can't  even  be  sure  the  trout's  in  this  particular  pool. 
But  they  know  that  trout  have  a  habit  of  rising  to 
flies!"  * 

"  And  this  is  sure  a  handsome  one !  " 

"  I'm  going  to  rise  to  it,  at  any  rate.  Only,  in  this 
case,  let's  hope  we're  big  enough  fish  to  carry  the  fly 
off  with  us  when  we  go  !  " 

"  Now  I'm  beginning  to  see  daylight,"  acknowledged 
Wilsnach.  "  But  what  must  I  do  ?  " 

Kestner  smoked  in  silence  for  several  moments. 

"  Where  have  you  put  up  ?  " 

"  At  the  Hotel  de  France,  in  the  Piazza  Marina.  I 
thought  it  best  for  us  to  scatter  a  bit." 

"  Good !  I'm  a  widow  from  Hamburg,  remember, 
named  Vendersmissen  —  we  can't  improve  on  that 
name.  I've  a  room  at  the  Hotel  des  Palmes,  next  to 
my  grandchild  and  her  nurse.  I'm  deaf,  and  I'm  ec- 
centric, but  I've  got  money." 

"  I  understand  all  that,  but  what  does  it  lead  to  ?  " 

"  Simply  that  I'm  going  to  take  my  little  blue-eyed 
grandchild  and  have  her  miniature  painted  on  ivory. 
And  I  want  to  be  with  Maura  Lambert  when  she's 
doing  it." 

"  She's  pretty  keen,  that  young  woman ! " 

"  Well,  I  worked  for  a  week  on  this  make-up.  I 
tried  it  out  on  Todaro,  in  Naples,  and  on  Coletta,  at 
the  wharf.  It  passed  both  of  them." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  49 

"  And  when  you're  getting  the  portrait  ?  " 

"When  the  first  chance  comes,  I'll  plant  a  dicto- 
graph. I'll  toss  a  metal  spool  from  the  window  and 
you'll  get  the  wires  and  run  them  across  the  roofs  to 
this  room.  Keep  them  under  cover.  Then  I  want  to 
get  the  lay-out  of  that  house,  and  ward-impressions  for 
the  different  door-keys.  And  in  the  meanwhile  I'll  be 
feeling  my  way  for  still  the  next  step." 

"  But  why  are  you  so  sure  the  gang's  here  in 
Palermo  ?  " 

"  Where  the  treasure  is  there  also  is  the  heart ! 
Those  people  've  got  a  plant  somewhere  in  this  city. 
It's  something  more  than  a  desk  and  an  etching  out- 
fit. It's  a  big  plant  for  doing  their  business  in  a  big 
way.  It's  going  to  be  hidden,  naturally,  and  hidden 
deep.  But  it's  our  business  to  dig  it  out." 

"  And  when  we  dig  it  out  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  no  earthly  use  to  us.  But  I  want  to 
know  where  it  is  and  what  it  is.  In  the  meantime,  I 
also  want  a  canvass  of  every  printing  place  in  this 
town.  You're  a  political  refugee,  with  a  revolutionary 
pamphlet  to  print.  And  you  want  an  anarchist 
printer  to  do  this  job.  That  will  get  you  next  ta 
anything  that  looks  suspicious." 

"  And  supposing  we  find  their  plant  ?  " 

"  If  we  get  the  plant,  we'll  get  them!  They  won't 
be  far  away  from  where  their  work  comes  from." 

"  They'll  fight  like  cornered  rats !  " 

"  Then  we'll  keep  'em  cornered.  And  while  we're 
at  it,  I  want  to  look  into  that  olive-oil  export  business 
of  Morello's.  I  imagine  some  of  those  cans  of  his  hold 
stuff  that  never  came  out  of  an  olive-press." 


50  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Kestner  was  on  his  feet  again,  readjusting  the  iron- 
grey  wig. 

"  You're  sure  this  man  Maresi  is  to  be  relied  on?  " 
he  was  asking. 

"  As  true  as  steel,"  was  Wilsnach's  answer.  "  He's 
been  doing  Department  work  for  us." 

Kestner  stopped  to  consult  his  watch. 

"  I've  got  to  get  back  to  that  hotel.  We  can't 
leave  here  together.  You  have  Maresi  tip  you  off 
when  the  court  is  clear,  and  get  away.  Then  I'll  meet 
you  in  thirty  minutes  at  Beppino's.  You've  got  to 
plant  me  in  that  hotel.  You  see  I'm  deaf,  and  don't 
speak  the  language." 

One  half  hour  later,  as  the  two  drove  away  from 
Beppino's  in  a  clattering  carrozza,  Wilsnach  stared  up 
through  the  soft-aired  Sicilian  evening  with  a  shrug  of 
vague  apprehension. 

"  I  hate  this  country,"  he  said. 

*'  It's  a  very  beautiful  place,"  retorted  the  old  lady 
in  dowdy  black,  as  she  stared  out  through  her  amber- 
coloured  spectacles. 

"  You  remember  what  happened  just  about  here?  " 
casually  inquired  the  other. 

They  were  crossing  a  square  bathed  in  the  soft 
golden  light  of  a  tropical  evening.  This  square  lay 
before  them  as  calm  and  peaceful  as  a  garden.  But  a 
small  and  ominous  silence  fell  over  the  two  of  them, 
for  Kestner  remembered  it  was  the  square  where  a 
great  man  and  a  brave  officer,  once  known  as  Petrosini, 
had  been  shot  down. 


II 

IT  was  the  next  morning  that  an  eccentric  old  lady 
in  dowdy  black,  accompanied  by  a  child  and  nurse, 
left  the  Hotel  des  Palmes  and  wandered  idly  and  un- 
concernedly about  the  streets  of  Palermo. 

For  a  time  this  erratic  trio  followed  a  tinkling  herd 
of  milk-goats  leisurely  out  towards  the  suburbs.  Then, 
apparently  tiring  of  this,  they  made  a  purchase  from 
a  native  pedlar  of  sponges.  A  keen  observer  might 
have  noticed  that  notwithstanding  the  silver-mounted 
ear-trumpet,  several  quietly  spoken  words  passed  be- 
tween the  sponge-seller  and  the  old  lady  in  black. 

Taking  up  their  course  again,  the  idle-minded  trio 
stopped  before  a  house  of  the  pink-stucco  villa  type. 
There  they  peered  through  the  glass  front  of  a  cabinet 
filled  with  miniatures,  showed  open  admiration  for  the 
work  which  they  were  inspecting,  and  after  some  debate 
entered  the  house  itself. 

There  they  encountered  a  quiet-mannered  and  violet- 
eyed  young  woman  who  announced  herself  as  "  Miss 
Keating,"  the  owner  of  the  studio.  It  was  to  this 
young  lady,  whose  knowledge  of  German  was  manifestly 
limited,  that  the  nurse  politely  and  patiently  explained 
that  the  old  lady  in  black  —  who,  she  confessed,  was 
erratic  but  wealthy  —  had  decided  to  have  a  painting 

on  ivory  of  her  grandchild. 

51 


&t  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Miss  Keating,  who  showed  small  delight  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  sitter,  explained  that  the  cost  of  a  miniature 
would  be  forty  pounds. 

The  uniformed  nurse  made  it  as  clear  as  she  could 
that  the  old  lady  was  quite  deaf,  that  she  was  whimsi- 
cal, but  that  she  was  too  wealthy  to  quibble  over  a 
matter  of  price.  And  Miss  Keating,  having  lifted  the 
child's  face  and  gazed  into  its  shy  and  innocent  eyes, 
admitted  that  a  portrait  might  be  attempted  and  that 
it  might  be  completed  in  a  couple  of  sittings.  After 
some  hesitation,  she  even  acknowledged  that  the  first 
sitting  might  take  place  that  morning. 

Thereupon,  this  being  vociferously  explained  to  the 
old  lady,  through  the  ear-trumpet,  that  worthy  calmly 
settled  herself  in  an  arm-chair  at  the  far  end  of  the 
big  room  with  its  all  but  bare  walls  and  its  moderated 
north  light. 

There,  with  the  self-immuring  tendency  of  the  deaf, 
she  promptly  fell  asleep.  She  dozed,  huddled  up  in 
her  chair,  apparently  oblivious  of  the  further  arrange- 
ments for  the  sitting,  such  as  the  placing  of  the  sub- 
ject in  the  most  favourable  light,  the  addition  of  a 
touch  of  colour  in  the  form  of  a  hair-ribbon,  the  wheel- 
ing about  of  a  bevel-topped  drawing-desk,  and  the  ar- 
raying of  the  needed  pigments.  The  nurse,  seating 
herself  by  one  of  the  windows,  produced  a  paper- 
covered  edition  of  a  Sudernaann  novel  and  promptly 
lost  herself  in  its  pages. 

The  old  lady  in  the  shadows  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room  apparently  continued  to  doze  behind  her  amber- 
coloured  glasses.  But  in  a  light  less  accommodating 
it  might  have  been  observed  that  nothing  which  took 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  53 

place  in  the  room  escaped  the  somnolent  eye  behind  the 
amber-tinted  lens. 

These  eyes  made  note  of  the  fact  that  the  wires  of 
telephone,  so  recently  installed  in  the  apartment,  ran 
from  the  table-edge  to  the  floor,  close  beside  the  light- 
wires.  They  made  note  of  these  incongruous  innova- 
tions in  a  villa  so  antiquated,  and  they  also  made  note 
of  the  doors,  and  the  modern  manner  of  lock  with  which 
they  were  now  protected.  They  appraised  the  furni- 
ture and  the  work-table  on  which  the  telephone  stood. 

But  most  of  all  they  quietly  studied  the  face  of  the 
young  woman  on  the  far  side  of  the  drawing-desk. 
This  face  revealed  itself  as  being  thinner  and  paler 
than  when  last  seen  by  those  same  studious  eyes.  It 
showed  a  deepened  sense  of  trouble  about  the  clouded 
white  brow,  a  more  wistful  line  of  revolt  about  the  full 
lines  of  the  red  lips  that  parted  in  a  curve  that  was 
almost  child-like.  But  the  dull  chestnut  of  the  heavily 
massed  hair  was  the  same,  and  the  same,  too,  was  the 
light  in  the  violet-blue  eyes  with  their  adumbrating 
fringe  of  lashes.  The  delicate  oval  of  the  face  carried 
the  same  incongruous  suggestion  of  fragility,  of  un- 
blunted  sensibilities.  The  tilt  of  the  chin  as  the  head 
was  thrown  back  to  observe  through  drooping  lids  the 
effect  of  the  first  hurrying  brush-strokes  seemed  as 
unstudied  and  adorable  as  before. 

Yet  the  watcher  did  not  fail  to  observe  the  facile  and 
quick-fingered  hand  as  it  worked,  and  the  thought  that 
this  hand  belonged  to  the  most  skilful  forger  in  all 
Europe  suddenly  robbed  the  face  of  its  inherent  love- 
liness. The  mere  memory  of  it  sent  a  twitch  of  revolt 
through  the  dowdy  old  lady  in  black.  It  seemed  in- 


54  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

credible.  A  look  of  shadowy  bewilderment  troubled 
the  eyes  behind  the  amber  lenses.  But  the  painting 
went  on  in  silence. 

This  silence  was  shatterd  by  the  sudden  shrill  of  a 
call-bell.  At  that  sound,  however,  the  old  lady  in  the 
arm-chair  neither  stirred  nor  blinked. 

It  was  the  younger  woman  at  the  drawing-desk  who 
started,  looked  apprehensively  about,  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  quickly  crossed  to  the  table  where  the 
telephone  stood.  There,  placing  the  receiver  at  her 
ear,  she  listened  intently,  speaking  back  an  occasional 
guarded  monosyllable  or  two,  in  Italian.  It  was  plain 
that  she  was  receiving  and  not  delivering  a  message. 
When  she  returned  to  her  work  she  did  so  with  some- 
what heightened  colour  and  with  a  more  energetic  move- 
ment of  the  fingers  as  she  bent  over  the  little  oval  of 
ivory. 

A  second  interruption  to  this  work  came  in  the  form 
of  a  peremptory  knock  on  the  entrance-door.  Again 
the  woman  who  called  herself  Miss  Keating  stopped  in 
her  labours,  looked  from  the  novel-reading  nurse  to  the 
slumberous  figure  in  black,  and  then  promptly  answered 
the  knock. 

It  turned  out  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  street  ped- 
lar, selling  sponges.  So  eager  was  he  to  make  a  sale, 
so  eloquent  was  he  in  his  talk,  that  the  preoccupied 
woman  apparently  purchased  a  sponge  as  the  most 
-expeditious  way  of  ending  his  importunities. 

That  young  woman,  however,  had  scarcely  reached 
her  chair  before  the  knock  was  repeated,  more  per- 
emptorily than  ever. 

This  time  she  was  greeted  by  the  Sicilian  sponge- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  55 

seller  with  fire  in  his  eye  and  indignation  in  his  voice. 
He  loudly  proclaimed  that  the  silver  coin  she  had  given 
him  was  spurious.  This,  once  she  had  comprehended 
his  dialect,  she  firmly  but  gently  denied,  only  to  be 
met  with  a  louder  storm  of  abusive  anger.  So  per- 
sistent were  his  outcries  that  first  the  child  and  then 
the  uniformed  nurse  followed  the  miniature-painter 
into  the  hallway,  where,  apparently  by  accident,  the 
door  closed  behind  them. 

Yet  in  the  few  moments  during  which  that  alterca- 
tion took  place  the  dowdy  old  lady  in  black  was  the 
most  active  figure  in  Palermo.  She  had  fitted  key- 
blanks  covered  with  coloured  wax  to  each  of  the  doors 
leading  from  that  room.  She  had  experimentally 
lifted  the  telephone  receiver  and  heard  a  voice  answer 
from  the  other  end  of  the  wire.  She  had  examined 
the  desk  drawers,  and  had  traced  out  the  wire-circuits, 
and  had  even  made  careful  note  of  what  lay  immedi- 
ately beyond  the  north-fronting  windows. 

When  the  miniature-painter  and  her  youthful  sitter 
re-entered  the  room  they  saw  this  same  old  lady  dozing 
heavily  in  her  arm-chair.  The  child  resumed  her  pose 
in  the  mellow  side-light  from  the  north  window.  The 
nurse  went  back  to  her  Sudermann.  The  painter  once 
more  took  up  her  brush.  But  those  repeated  inter- 
ruptions seemed  to  have  taken  the  zest  from  her  touch. 

She  bent  over  her  work  for  several  minutes.  Then 
she  suddenly  pushed  back  her  chair,  stood  up,  and 
announced  that  the  sitting  would  have  to  end.  There 
could  be  another  appointment,  if  necessary.  But  she 
could  not  go  on  with  the  picture  that  day. 

The  old  lady  in  black,  pulling  herself  together  after 


56  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

being  shaken  out  of  her  sleep,  fumbled  with  scratch- 
pad and  ear-trumpet  and  finally  came  to  an  under- 
standing of  the  situation. 

She  was  by  no  means  willing  to  be  put  off.  The 
miniature  was  begun,  and  there  was  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  be  finished,  and  finished  before  they 
started  North. 

"  Then  it  will  have  to  be  in  the  evening,"  announced 
the  owner  of  the  studio,  "  for  my  days  for  the  rest  of 
the  week  will  be  quite  taken  up." 

To  this  the  old  lady  in  black  eventually  agreed,  pro- 
vided the  work  could  be  properly  done  by  electric- 
light.  On  being  reassured  of  this  the  group  moved 
brokenly  towards  the  door. 

But  for  one  brief  moment  the  eyes  behind  the  amber- 
coloured  lenses  searched  the  face  of  the  woman  so  in- 
hospitably ushering  them  out.  Still  again  about  that 
self-contained  and  ascetic  face  the  searching  eyes 
seemed  able  to  discern  some  vague  sense  of  the  pathos 
of  isolation,  as  though  a  once  ardent  and  buoyant 
spirit  had  been  driven  under  protest  into  a  shadowy 
underworld  of  solitude. 

"  To-morrow  evening  at  eight,"  the  young  woman 
with  the  voice  as  clear  and  reedy  as  a  clarionet  was 
quietly  repeating,  as  she  held  the  door  for  her  oddly- 
sorted  visitors. 

The  child  smiled  shyly  back  at  her.  The  German 
nurse  nodded  pleasantly.  But  the  figure  in  black  with 
the  silver-mounted  old  ear-trumpet  neither  ventured 
a  word  of  farewell  nor  essayed  a  backward  glance. 
She  merely  trudged  stolidly  out  behind  the  others. 

At  the  entrance  door  her  cane  slipped  from  her 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  57 

rheumatic  fingers  and  she  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  This 
was  not  easy  to  do.  She  had  to  steady  herself,  as  she 
stooped,  with  one  hand  clinging  to  the  door  beside  her. 

Yet  in  that  brief  space  of  time  a  skeleton-blank  had 
been  thrust  into  the  key-hole,  a  quick  turn  made,  and 
an  exact  imprint  of  the  wards  of  the  lock  left  on  the 
wax-coated  metal  of  the  key-flange. 

Waving  her  cane  in  a  splutter  of  anger,  she  hobbled 
on  after  the  others,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  back 
over  her  shoulder  as  she  went. 


m 

WILSNACH,  as  had  been  planned,  waited  until  am 
hour  past  midnight. 

Then  he  left  his  room  in  the  Hotel  de  France,  struck 
through  the  Via  Bottai  to  the  Corso  Vittorio  Emanuele, 
swung  back  out  of  the  life  and  lights  of  that  thorough- 
fare, and  by  streets  more  obscure  threaded  his  way 
steadily  westward.  Then  he  rounded  a  block,  to  make 
sure  he  was  not  being  shadowed,  and  quietly  admitted 
himself  to  the  same  house  where  he  and  Kestner  had 
met  earlier  in  the  day 

On  the  closed  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  he  played 
a  tattoo  with  his  finger-tips,  the  same  tattoo  that  had 
been  used  before,  but  this  time  more  lightly. 

A  key  turned,  and  he  was  admitted  to  the  room. 

There  he  beheld  Kestner  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  a 
half-smoked  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a  switchboard 
operator's  "  helmet "  made  from  the  wires  of  a  bed- 
spring  clamped  over  his  head.  To  one  side  of  this 
improvised  helmet  was  tied  a  small  watch-case  receiver, 
connected  with  two  wires  covered  with  insulation-silk, 
which  ran  to  the  window.  Attached  to  the  other  side 
of  the  helmet  and  held  still  close  to  Kestner's  ear  by 
his  own  hand  was  a  small  metal  microphone,  also  con- 
nected with  two  wires  which  led  to  the  window  and 
from  there  ran  somewhere  out  into  the  night. 

"  Well,  we're  getting  down  to  tin  tacks ! "  quietlj 
58 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  59 

announced  Kestner,  as  he  motioned  Wilsnach  into  a 
chair  and  at  the  same  time  resumed  his  own  seat. 

**  What  have  you  got?  "  asked  Wilsnach,  still  stand- 
ing. 

"  I've  got  their  telephone  wire  tapped,  and  I've  got 
a  dictograph  planted." 

" Anything  coming  in?"  anxiously  inquired  the 
newcomer. 

"  Not  a  thing  from  the  dictograph.  They're  all 
lying  low.  The  whole  place  is  like  a  hen-run  with  a 
hawk  overhead.  And  I  can't  figure  out  what's  made 
them  suspicious.  But  I'm  waiting  for  something  over 
this  'phone  wire." 

"  Why  do  you  say  it's  like  a  hen-run  ?  " 

"  Because  I've  found  their  coop  and  they  haven't 
altogether  flown  it !  " 

"  They're  here  ?  "  demanded  Wilsnach. 

"  I've  explored  their  whole  blessed  warren.  And  it's 
as  complete  a  lay-out  as  you  ever  clapped  eyes  on  — 
only  I  wish  it  were  anywhere  but  in  Palermo !  " 

"  You  mean  you've  found  their  quarters  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Wilsnach,  staring  at  him  as  he  stopped  to  re- 
light his  cigar. 

"  I've  found  them  and  been  through  them.  Every 
blessed  —  Wait  a  minute,  there's  something  going  over 
the  wire ! " 

The  two  men  suddenly  froze  into  positions  of  sus- 
pended movement.  Kestner  was  holding  his  head  a 
little  to  one  side,  with  the  watch-case  receiver  pressed 
close  against  his  ear,  a  blank  stare  of  concentration  on 
his  face.  He  made  the  other  man  think  of  the  hen- 
hawk  again,  a  poised  and  quiescent  vigilance  forever 


60  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

on  the  look-out.  And  to  that  other  man  there  also 
came  a  thought  as  to  the  wonders  of  electricity  and  the 
strange  ends  which  it  might  be  made  to  serve. 

"  That's  their  pass-word,"  Kestner  was  saying, 
"  Che  maestro  avete?  They  always  ask  that  question 
first." 

Wilsnach  was  not  a  man  of  imagination.  In  his  call- 
ing he  contended,  such  things  were  a  drawback.  But 
as  he  stood  watching  that  other  man  with  the  tiny 
receiver  at  his  ear,  the  subordinate  from  the  Paris 
Office  was  oddly  impressed  by  the  silent  drama  of  the 
situation.  He  was  conscious  of  a  latent  theatricality 
in  Kestner's  position  as  he  sat  there  so  quietly  breaking 
through  the  reserve  behind  which  their  enemies  had  en- 
trenched themselves.  There,  by  means  of  a  few  deli- 
cate instruments  and  a  couple  of  slender  threads  of 
copper,  he  was  able  to  sit,  like  a  god  on  Olympus, 
unseen  and  unheard,  yet  all  the  while  listening  to  the 
petty  talk  and  plans  of  the  unsuspecting  mortals 
below  him. 

Then  all  thought  on  the  matter  suddenly  ended,  for 
Kestner  had  leaned  forward  with  a  nervous  jerk  of  the 
body. 

"  That's  Morello !  "  he  gasped,  with  his  unseeing  eyes 
fixed  on  the  blank  wall  before  him.  There  was  silence 
for  a  while.  Then  Kestner  spoke  again. 

"  He's  just  said  the  Parmonia  is  due  in  Palermo  har- 
bour sometime  to-morrow,  and  will  sail  again  at  mid- 
night." He  turned  quickly  to  Wilsnach.  "  Where 
does  that  steamer  come  from?  " 

"  She's  a  Cunarder,  sailing  from  Trieste  and  Fiume. 
This  is  a  port  of  call  on  her  westbound  trip." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  61 

"  But  westbound  to  where?  " 

"  To  New  York." 

"  New  York ! "  repeated  Kestner,  as  he  sat  back, 
deep  in  thought.  The  watch-case  receiver  was  still 
being  held  close  against  his  ear. 

"  Just  why  should  those  people  be  interested  in  the 
Pannonia?  "  he  ruminated  aloud. 

"Anything  on  the  wire  now?"  inquired  Wilsnach. 
Kestner  shook  his  head. 

Yet  Wilsnach  stood  waiting,  with  the  feeling  that 
there  were  vast  issues  in  the  air.  He  watched  his  col- 
league light  a  fresh  cigar  and  decided  that  Kestner,  as 
usual,  was  smoking  too  much. 

"  Could  you  give  me  a  hint  or  two  about  that  plant 
of  theirs  ?  "  he  finally  ventured. 

Kestner  tossed  the  silk-covered  wires  back  over  his 
shoulder.  The  movement  reminded  the  other  man  of  a 
girl  tossing  aside  her  troublesome  braids. 

"  It's  about  where  I  thought  it  would  be,  only  with 
a  difference.  They're  using  this  woman,  of  course, 
as  their  stick-up.  The  rear  door  of  her  place  opens 
on  a  garden  planted  with  lemon  trees.  There's  a 
narrow  passage  running  under  the  stone  walk  that 
lies  between  those  lemon  trees.  It  leads  from  the  cel- 
lar of  her  house  right  through  to  the  broken-down 
villa  backing  it.  They've  taken  the  old  wine-cellar 
there  and  wired  it  and  fitted  it  up  for  a  work-shop. 
They've  even  got  a  forced-draught  ventilating  sys- 
tem, for  it's  all  underground,  you  see,  and  shut  off 
with  silence  doors.  And  they've  got  a  sweet  collec- 
tion of  contraband  stuff  there !  " 

"Such  as?" 


62  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Well,  such  as  three  good-sized  presses  for  print- 
ing their  counterfeit  notes,  a  stock  of  the  finest  inks  I 
ever  saw  outside  a  government  plant,  etching  tools, 
and  a  complete  collection  of  plate-steel  and  copper. 
They've  got  dies  for  striking  off  silver  coins,  and  a 
lathe  for  rimming  gold." 

"  Then  everything's  grist  for  their  mill ! " 

"  But  that's  nothing  compared  to  their  stock  of 
paper!  Wilsnach,  those  people  have  paper  for  bank- 
notes of  about  every  power  in  the  world.  They've 
got  an  imitation  water-lined  Irish  linen,  five  by  eight, 
with  ragged  edges,  for  Bank  of  England  work. 
They've  got  an  equally  good  white  water-lined  paper 
for  their  Banque  de  France  stuff.  They've  got  silk- 
fibre  stock  for  their  German  thousand-mark  bills. 
They've  even  got  South  American  currency-paper 
done  up  in  cinnamon  brown  and  slate  blues.  They've 
also  got  the  trick  of  process-hardening  steel.  I  im- 
agine that  partly  explains  the  clearness  of  their  coun- 
terfeit print-work.  They  don't  print  from  the  orig- 
inal plate.  That  woman  artist  of  theirs  works  out 
their  plate  first,  on  soft  steel  —  and  it  must  take  her 
many  a  week  to  do  one  of  those  plates !  They  take 
an  impression  from  this,  and  process-harden  it,  doing 
the  Government  trick,  except  that  instead  of  print- 
ing from  a  cylinder  they  pound  it  off  on  a  bed- 
press." 

"  God,  what  a  find !  "  gasped  Wilsnach. 

Kestner  did  not  seem  to  share  in  his  exultation. 

"  But,  don't  you  see,  the  plant's  not  what  we  want ! 
The  plant's  an  incident.  We  could  wire  Rome  and 
have  the  Italian  authorities  close  in  on  that  plant,  of 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  6S 

course,  at  any  time  we  wanted  to  show  our  hand.  It's 
here,  and  it  can't  get  away." 

"  You  mean  it's  the  people  we  want  ?  " 

"  It's  the  people  we've  got  to  get.  The  authori- 
ties can  drop  that  junk  into  the  Tyrrhenian,  any  day 
they  see  fit.  But  the  people  who  own  the  hands  that 
make  those  plates  and  prepare  that  paper  can't  be 
allowed  to  wander  about  the  world  at  their  own  sweet 
will.  And  when  we  get  one  person  we  get  the  key- 
stone of  their  little  arch." 

"  You  mean  the  woman,  Lambert's  daughter?  " 

"  I  mean  the  woman." 

"  Then  how  are  you  going  to  get  her  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  try  a  trick  of  her  own.  In  other 
words,  I  think  I'll  try  uttering  a  forgery.  But  in- 
stead of  being  on  paper,  it's  going  to  be  on  this  tele- 
phone circuit.  To-morrow  I'll  have  a  field-transmit- 
ter to  attach  to  this  bridge  I've  put  on  her  wire. 
Then  I'll  watch  my  time,  and  at  the  right  moment 
have  Maresi  here  call  her  up,  give  the  pass-word,  and 
speak  to  her." 

"Why  Maresi?" 

"  I'm  afraid  of  my  own  voice.  He  can  tell  her  the 
latest  word  is  for  her  to  get  aboard  the  Pcmnonia, 
some  time  before  midnight.  A  cab  will  call  for  her, 
say  at  eleven,  take  her  to  the  Marina  or  to  the  foot 
of  Via  Principe  Belmonte,  and  there  a  boatman  will 
be  waiting  to  row  her  out  to  the  steamer.  Then  I'll 
cut  the  wire,  so  there  can  be  no  more  calls." 

"  It's  a  fine  scheme,"  admitted  Wilsnach,  "  but  I 
don't  think  any  woman  would  start  across  the  Atlan- 
tic at  a  few  words  over  a  telephone." 


C£  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

"  But  some  such  trip  is  in  the  air,  or  they  wouldn't 
fee  interested  in  the  Pannonia." 

"  Even  though  she  acted  on  the  message,  there'd  be 
some  one  in  that  circle  of  hers  to  interfere." 

"  Then,  for  a  few  hours,  it  would  be  our  duty  to  see 
that  she  was  not  interfered  with." 

"  But  you  and  I  and  Maresi  can't  fight  all  Sicily. 
That  woman  is  being  watched,  you  may  be  sure. 
She's  not  going  to  move  far  without  the  rest  of  the 
gang  knowing  it.  And  if  it's  a  suspicious  move,  they 
uron't  be  slow  about  stepping  in." 

"  Then  we  must  be  there  to  help  them  out." 

**  But  that  gang  has  got  money,  and  with  money, 
m  this  hanged  country,  they  can  have  half  the  brigan- 
laggio  of  the  island  at  their  heels.  It's  a  combination 
TKC  can't  stand  up  against." 

"  Then  we've  got  to  think  out  a  plan  of  beating 
them  from  under  cover." 

"  But  this  doesn't  take  any  account  of  Lambert 
Mmself,"  demurred  Wilsnach. 

"  We  don't  know  where  Lambert  is.  But  this  much 
ire  do  know:  his  daughter  is  essential  to  his  ends. 
Whatever  his  personal  feelings  may  be  towards  her, 
lie  at  least  needs  her  in  his  work.  And  wherever  she 
goes,  he'll  tail  along  if  you  give  him  time." 

"  Then  how  about  the  other  man,  Morello  ?  " 

"  Morello's  in  the  same  boat  with  Lambert.  He'll 
follow  the  woman.  And  he'll  be  in  New  York,  for 
that  olive-oil  importing  business  needs  him  there.  I 
found  twelve  of  his  gallon  tins  in  the  wine-cellar. 
They've  been  packing  them  with  counterfeit  paper, 
filling  them  up  with  sand  and  cork-dust  to  make  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  65 

right  weight,  and  then  soldering  the  tops  on.  It's  as 
neat  a  scheme  as  I've  stumbled  on  for  some  time  — 
and  the  Treasury  Department's  got  to  get  busy  on 
that  Morello  brand  of  oil ! " 

"  And  would  this  mean  that  you'd  be  on  the  Pan* 
nonia  yourself  ?  " 

"  I'd  have  to  slip  aboard  at  the  last  moment." 

Wilsnach  was  on  his  feet,  pacing  perplexedly  up 
and  down  the  barren  little  room. 

"  You  land  your  woman  in  New  York,  of  course, 
but  what  do  you  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  First  I  get  the  woman." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  getting  her?  "  inter- 
rupted the  other.  "  And  what  will  you  do  with  her 
when  you've  got  her?  " 

"  Heaven  only  knows,"  finally  admitted  the  man 
with  the  helmet  of  wire  across  the  top  of  his  head. 

"  I'll  confess  the  woman  is  more  interesting 
than  — " 

"  Wait !  "  cried  Kestner.  His  voice  was  sharp  and 
quick.  "  There's  some  one  on  the  wire.  That's  the 
pass-word !  They're  going  to  talk  again." 

Once  more  silence  reigned  in  the  barren  little  room, 
Wilsnach  sat  watching  the  other  man's  face.  There 
seemed  something  grotesque  in  the  pose  of  the  for- 
ward-stooping body,  in  the  inclined  head,  in  the  va- 
cant stare  of  the  eyes  that  encompassed  nothing  of 
their  surroundings. 

But  Wilsnach  knew  by  the  fine  moisture  lending  a 
scattering  of  high-lights  to  the  intent  face  before  him, 
that  things  of  moment  were  trickling  in  along  that 
tiny  rivulet  of  silk-covered  copper. 


66  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

The  silence  prolonged  itself  interminably.  Wils- 
nach  became  restive,  shifting  his  position  and  still 
waiting.  But  neither  spoke. 

Kestner  sat  back  in  his  chair,  with  a  sigh.  Then 
consciousness  of  his  immediate  surroundings  returned 
to  him.  He  looked  tired  but  contented. 

"  Maresi  won't  need  to  send  that  message  for  us," 
he  said  very  quietly.  "  Lambert's  on  the  Pannonia!  " 

Wilsnach  stood  staring  down  at  him,  slowly  digest- 
ing this  unlooked-for  information. 

"  Lambert  —  on  the  Pannonia?  "  he  intoned,  with 
voluptuous  delay  in  the  delivery  of  each  pregnant 
word. 

"  And  his  daughter  is  to  join  him  there,  as  late  as 
possible  to-morrow  night,  before  the  boat  sails." 

"  You're  —  you're  sure  of  this  ?  " 

"  Positive !  And  the  gentleman  known  as  Antonio 
Morello  is  to  follow  on  a  later  steamer.  He  will  go 
steerage.  And  like  most  immigrants,  he  will  take 
his  own  bedding.  But  sewn  up  in  his  mattress  he  is 
to  carry  in  seven  of  Maura  Lambert's  note  plates." 

Wilsnach  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  narrow  bed. 
Then  he  sighed  devoutly  as  he  stared  at  the  wire  hel- 
met. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  Kestner,  that  you  ever  learned 
the  tricks  of  the  wire-tapper !  This  cuts  right  into  the 
core  of  things!  This  plays  right  into  our  hands! 
And  this  means  I  can  be  back  in  Paris  by  Friday !  " 

"  But  in  the  meantime,"  suggested  Kestner,  taking 
the  helmet  from  his  head,  "  I'd  like  you  to  relieve  me 
here  while  I  get  six  hours'  sleep.  If  anything  goes 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  67 

over  the  wire,  jot  it  down.     And  keep  an  ear  open  for 

that  dictograph." 

"  But  what's  there  left  for  us  to  do  ?  " 

"  Several  things !     One  of  them  is  to  rig  up  my 

field-transmitter.     And  among  other  things,  I've  got 

to  be  shaved  to  the  blood  again.     You  see,  I  still  have 

that  appointment  with   Maura   Lambert   to-morrow 

at  eight." 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  that,  now?     You've  got  the 

bunch  where  you  want  them,  and  inside  of  three  weeks 

you'll  have  'em  behind  bars !  " 

"  Still,  I  think  I'll  keep  that  appointment." 

"  But  it's  only  facing  danger  when  there's  no  need 

for  it ! " 

"  Well,   I   imagine   it*s   worth   it,"   was   Kestner's 

somewhat  enigmatic  reply. 


IV 

AT  eight  o'clock  the  following  evening  the  dowdy 
old  lady  in  black,  the  innocent-eyed  grandchild,  and 
the  uniformed  nurse  duly  made  their  appearance  at 
the  door  of  the  Palermo  miniature-painter.  Here 
they  were  duly  admitted,  and,  as  on  the  day  before, 
disposed  themselves  in  their  various  places. 

Outwardly,  the  studio  showed  no  signs  of  change. 
Yet  on  this  occasion  some  newer  and  undefined  spirit 
of  tension  intruded  itself  on  that  incongruous  circle. 
The  old  lady  with  the  ear-trumpet,  it  is  true,  appar- 
ently made  herself  quite  comfortable  in  the  arm-chair. 
But  before  doing  so  she  moved  this  chair  back  against 
the  farthest  wall  of  the  room. 

She  betrayed  no  active  interest  in  the  scene  before 
her,  it  is  equally  true,  yet  at  no  time  did  she  permit 
the  eyes  behind  the  amber  glasses  to  close  in  slumber. 

The  somewhat  mystified  nurse  no  longer  found  rel- 
ish in  the  pages  of  her  Sudermann.  The  artist  bend- 
ing over  the  drawing-desk  no  longer  struggled  to  talk 
in  broken  German  with  her  youthful  sitter.  She 
worked  on  her  oval  of  ivory  with  perfunctory  and 
spasmodic  haste,  interrupted  by  brief  spaces  of  inac- 
tion. During  these  interims  of  idleness  she  sat  star- 
ing thoughtfully  at  the  sloping  desk-top  in  front  of 
her. 

The   silence   weighed  heavily   on   the   child   in   the 

stiff-backed  chair.     She  moved  restlessly,  from  time 

68 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  69 

to  time.  Then  her  eyelids  drooped,  her  head  nodded 
sleepily  forward,  and  she  recovered  her  equilibrium 
with  a  start. 

The  woman  behind  the  drawing-desk  watched  the 
small  blonde  head  as  it  nodded  again.  Then  she 
suddenly  rose  to  her  feet,  turning  to  the  nurse  as  she 
spoke. 

"  This  child  is  tired,"  she  said  in  the  best  German 
at  her  command. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  the  woman  in  the  nurse's  uniform. 

"  You  will  be  so  good  as  to  take  her  back  to  the 
hotel.  The  pose  is  useless  now." 

"  You  do  not  need  her  ?  " 

"  The  picture  can  be  finished  without  a  sitter." 

And  as  though  to  close  all  argument,  the  miniature- 
painter  crossed  the  room  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
The  nurse  tied  the  child's  hat-ribbons  under  her  chin, 

"  I  shall  not  need  you  again,"  Maura  Lambert  was 
repeating,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  "  Only  I  shoukl 
like  to  speak  with  the  grandmother  for  a  few  minutes," 

"  But  the  grandmother  is  quite  deaf,"  protested  the 
slightly  puzzled  German  woman. 

"  Notwithstanding  that,"  was  the  other  woman's 
reply  in  English,  "  we  shall  get  on  very  nicely." 

Kestner,  at  that  first  message  of  dismissal,  had  risea 
to  his  feet.  His  instincts  warned  him  of  something 
electric  in  the  air,  of  something  impending.  His  in- 
itial impulse  was  to  intercept  the  departing  couple. 
But  on  second  thoughts  he  let  them  pass  out  through 
the  opened  door  without  speaking. 

The  calm-eyed  young  woman  closed  the  door 
and  crossed  slowly  to  the  drawing-desk. 


TO  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  my  work  as  far  as 
it  has  gone,"  she  inquired,  without  raising  her  voice, 
"  to  assure  yourself  that  it  is  authentic,  that  my  vo- 
cation is  not  unlawful." 

Kestner,  in  a  mechanical  continuation  of  his  role, 
raised  the  ear-trumpet  to  the  edge  of  his  wig. 

"  That  is  quite  unnecessary,"  said  the  woman  at 
the  drawing-desk,  with  a  movement  that  seemed  one 
of  mingled  contempt  and  impatience.  "  You  heard 
perfectly  well  what  I  said !  " 

And  still  Kestner  remained  silent,  knowing  only  too 
well  that  his  voice  would  irretrievably  betray  him. 
He  merely  watched  the  woman  as  she  crossed  to  the 
wide-topped  table  on  which  the  telephone  stood. 
There  she  sat  down,  facing  him. 

"  The  make-up  is  admirable,  monsieur"  she  went 
on  in  a  coerced  evenness  of  tone.  "  But  work  such  as 
mine  demands  unusual  acuteness  of  eyesight."  She 
leaned  forward  on  the  table.  "  I  am  Maura  Lambert. 
And  you  are  Lewis  Kestner.  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
recognising  you  when  you  first  came  into  the  room. 
So  please  be  seated,  Mr.  Kestner." 

The  moment  was  not  a  happy  one  for  Lewis  Kest- 
ner. He  found  himself,  in  the  first  place,  confronted 
by  the  ignominy  of  being  beaten  at  his  own  game. 
He  also  faced  the  humiliation  of  the  actor  who  has 
failed  in  sustaining  a  role.  And  he  nursed  the  for- 
lorn realisation,  as  he  stared  at  her  through  the  futile 
amber-coloured  glasses,  that  he  was  both  cutting  a 
very  sorry  figure  and  that  nothing  was  now  to  be 
gained  by  trying  to  face  the  thing  out. 

"  But  was  it  a  pleasure,  Miss  Lambert?  "  he  i»- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  71 

quired  of  her,  with  an  effort  toward  coolness,  as  he 
seated  himself  in  the  arm-chair. 

"  Only  in  so  far  as  all  duties  accomplished  can  be 
called  a  pleasure,"  was  her  acidulated  response. 

"  Then  you  have  done  what  was  expected  of  you?  " 
demanded  the  Secret  Agent,  parrying  for  his  opening. 

"  Only  partly,  Mr.  Kestner,"  was  her  reply,  "  for 
the  most  painful  part  of  it  has  yet  to  come." 

He  was  perversely  conscious  of  the  fact  that  he 
wished  to  talk  to  her,  to  hear  her  voice,  to  await  some 
accidental  sounding  of  a  note  that  would  not  be  im- 
personal, to  break  through  the  mists  which  were  mak- 
ing her  personality  such  an  elusive  one. 

"  And  that  part  is  ?  "  he  prompted. 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you."  She  was  silent  for  a 
moment  or  two,  staring  down  at  the  table  in  front  of 
her.  "  I  helped  you  once,  and  gained  nothing  by  it. 
This  time  I  must  think  of  myself." 

An  inapposite  impression  of  her  bodily  fineness,  of 
a  wayward  delicacy  of  line  and  colouring,  crept  over 
him,  even  in  that  moment  of  tension. 

"  But  are  you  thinking  of  yourself  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Only  once  before,  he  remembered,  had  this  personal 
note  been  struck  between  them  and  that  for  not  more 
than  a  breath  or  two.  Once  only  had  there  been  any- 
thing more  than  a  hand-grope  through  the  vague 
draperies  of  reserve  shutting  her  off  from  his  world. 
And  it  astonished  Kestner  to  find  himself  confronting 
her  with  emotions  which,  however  mixed,  were  still 
actual  and  disturbing. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  she  countered. 

He  knew  she  was  a  woman  of  spirit.     He  could  see 


72  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

that  by  the  quickened  colour,  by  the  full  under-lip  of 
a  mouth  that  was  warm  but  not  yielding,  by  the  im- 
mediate and  open  challenge  of  the  translucent  eye. 
But  he  decided,  now  that  the  chance  he  had  been 
waiting  for  had  come,  to  tell  her  what  he  felt  it  his 
duty  to  tell  her. 

"  You  can't  go  on  with  this  work,"  he  said,  quite 
simply. 

She  looked  at  him  with  wonder  in  her  quiet  stare. 

"  I'm  compelled  to  go  on  with  this  work,"  she  re- 
torted, speaking  as  quietly  as  he  had  spoken. 

"  How  can  you?  "  he  inquired.  He  felt  that  he 
must  be  very  foolish-looking,  in  the  transparencies  of 
his  outlandish  make-up.  He  was  conscious  of  being 
at  a  disadvantage,  of  having  suffered  a  loss  of  dig- 
nity, of  standing  a  sorry  figure  for  the  utterance  of 
the  things  he  most  wanted  to  say. 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  he  repeated. 

Her  face  suddenly  grew  quite  white ;  she  sat  ar- 
rested in  a  pose  where  some  new  thought  had  struck 
her.  Then  she  reached  down  and  opened  one  of  the 
drawers  at  her  side. 

Kestner  could  not  see  what  she  held  in  her  hand. 
He  arrived  at  his  own  conclusions.  But  he  did  not 
change  his  position. 

"  I  could  shoot  you!  "  she  said,  with  the  same  even 
calmness  with  which  she  had  spoken  before. 

He  noticed  that  her  right  hand  moved  forward. 
But  he  did  not  change  his  position.  He  merely  de- 
cided that  he  knew  his  woman. 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  are  altogether  afraid  to," 
was  his  tranquil-noted  rejoinder. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  7$ 

They  faced  each  other,  with  glances  locked,  for  sev- 
eral seconds  of  embattled  silence. 

"  It  would  simplify  matters,"  she  said.  She  was 
speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  him. 

"  Again  on  the  contrary,  it  would  sadly  complicate 
them,"  was  Kestner's  reply. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked.  But  that  dangerous  look  of 
appraisal,  of  hesitation  between  two  possible  ends,  was 
still  in  her  eyes. 

"  Because  you're  fighting  something  bigger  than  I 
am,"  he  told  her.  "  Because  in  two  minutes  another 
would  take  my  place,  and  another  his  place,  and  still 
another,  and  then  still  another,  if  need  be." 

There  was  something  nettling  in  the  half-wearied 
indifferency  of  her  smile.  He  knew  that  he  was  not 
making  an  impressive  stand  against  her.  And  it  did 
not  add  to  his  peace  of  mind  to  remember  that  Wils- 
nach  at  the  other  end  of  his  dictograph  wires  was  an 
auditor  of  every  spoken  word. 

"  That's  a  very  pretty  play-actor  speech,  mon- 
sieur" the  woman  at  the  table  was  saying.  "  But 
your  trade  is  as  full  of  tricks  and  deceits  as  mine. 
That,  at  least,  you  have  already  proved  to  me." 

"  Then  I'll  prove  something  else,"  said  Kestner. 

"What?"  she  demanded. 

"  Lift  that  receiver  at  your  elbow,  and  ask  if  you 
are  watched  —  watched  at  this  moment.  Speak  just 
those  three  words  into  it:  *  Am  I  watched?  ' 

She  sat  studying  his  face  intently,  her  mind  still 
occupied  with  some  inward  debate.  Then  with  her 
left  hand  she  lifted  the  transmitter  closer  to  where  she 
sat.  With  the  same  hand  she  took  the  receiver  from 


74.  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

its  hook.  Her  right  hand,  he  noticed,  still  held  the 
unseen  thing  which  had  been  lifted  from  the  table 
drawer. 

"  Am  I  watched?  "  she  said  into  the  transmitter, 
with  the  clear  and  reedy  voice  which  had  first  reminded 
Kestner  of  a  clarionet. 

He  could  not  hear  what  answer  came  back  to  her 
over  the  wire.  But  he  knew  that  Wilsnach  was  there 
with  the  field-transmitter  in  front  of  him  —  and  he 
knew  that  Wilsnach  would  not  fail  him. 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyes  to  her  enemy  as  she  slowly 
hung  up  the  receiver.  But  that  enemy  knew,  by  the 
look  of  troubled  thought  clouding  her  brow,  that  the 
expected  message  had  come  in  to  her. 

When  she  spoke,  she  did  so  with  a  slow  impersonal- 
ity which  gave  an  added  barb  to  her  words. 

"  The  situation,"  she  quietly  announced,  "  is  not 
without  its  novelty.  For  I  am  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge that  you  too  are  being  watched !  " 


KESTNER,  in  his  work,  had  always  opposed  the  in- 
trusion of  the  personal  equation.  When  he  had  erred, 
as  all  men  must,  it  had  mostly  been  through  the  emo- 
tions. Yet  here  he  had  made  the  mistake,  as  Wils- 
nach  had  anticipated,  of  confounding  a  case  by  giv- 
ing rein  to  a  personal  impulse. 

There  are  times,  however,  when  the  ultimate  truths 
of  instinct  and  feeling  are  saner  than  facts.  And 
Kestner,  as  he  looked  at  the  violet-blue  eyes  facing 
him,  saw  nothing  to  deplore  and  little  to  regret.  He 
only  wished  he  was  well  out  of  that  dowdy  black  silk 
monstrosity  which  encompassed  him  with  the  gloom  of 
a  shroud. 

"  So  I  am  being  watched?  "  he  said,  striving  to  make 
his  tone  a  casual  one.  "  And  who  or  what  happens 
to  be  watching  me?  " 

"  To  demonstrate  that  would  only  mean  to  bring 
danger  still  closer  to  you,"  she  replied,  puzzled  by  his 
sustained  air  of  fortitude. 

"  It  may  not  be  so  important  as  you  imagine,"  he 
suggested.  "  The  important  fact  is  that  you  and  I 
are  here  together,  face  to  face,  and  able  to  talk  this 
thing  out." 

".What  thing?  "  she  parried. 

"  Please  don't  compel  me  to  preach,"  said  Kestner, 
wondering  at  the  spirit  of  humility  with  which  the  at- 
tainment of  his  own  ends  was  crowning  him. 

75 


76  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  To  preach  about  what  ?  "  she  still  inquired.  He 
realised  that  she  still  shrank  back  from  those  frontiers 
of  intimacy  which  he  seemed  bound  to  cross. 

"  About  this  life  you're  leading,"  he  said.  "  About 
what  it  will  lead  to,  and  what  it  will  do  to  you." 

"  Is  painting  on  ivory  so  fatal?  "  she  asked.  But 
her  smile  was  almost  pitiful. 

"  It's  crime  that's  fatal,"  cried  Kestner.  "  You 
can't  succeed,  neither  you  nor  your  father  nor  Mo- 
rello.  You're  getting  protection  of  a  kind  at  the 
present  moment.  But  it's  a  poor  kind,  and  it  can't 
last !  You're  facing  the  wrong  way.  You'll  only  go 
down,  and  still  farther  down,  and  at  every  step  you'll 
have  meaner  and  dirtier  work  to  do.  You'll  go  down 
until  you're  nothing  but  a  slum-worker  leading  the 
life  of  a  street-cat.  You'll  shut  yourself  off  from 
every  decent  influence  that  can  come  into  a  woman's 
life.  And  even  though  you  should  slip  through  the 
hands  of  the  law  —  and  you  can't  do  that  —  month 
by  month  and  year  by  year  you'll  fall  lower  and 
lower,  lying  and  cheating  and  flimflamming  and  bunco- 
steering  and  scurrying  from  one  warren  to  an- 
other." 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  white  to  the  lips.  But  Kestner 
did  not  choose  to  wait. 

"  You  won't  come  in  contact  with  one  man  you  can 
respect  or  trust.  But  crooked  as  they  are,  the  time 
will  come  when  you'll  have  to  turn  to  them  for  pro- 
tection. And  if  they  give  you  that,  they'll  expect 
their  price  for  it.  And  they'll  get  their  price,  in  the 
end.  Oh,  believe  me,  I've  seen  the  woman  adventurer. 
I've  followed  their  careers,  by  the  hundred  —  not 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  ffi 

through  novels,  but  through  life.  They  all  lead  one 
way,  and  that  way  is  down ! " 

The  woman  sitting  opposite  him  did  not  speak  for 
several  moments.  Her  face  was  very  white.  Kest- 
ner  could  see  the  blue  vein  ing  in  the  temple  under  the 
heavily  massed  chestnut  hair.  When  she  spoke  she 
spoke  very  quietly. 

"  All  this  is  very  eloquent,"  she  said,  "  and,  I'm 
afraid,  very  obvious.  But  it  is  quite  beside  the  mark. 
There  are  things  you  don't  understand.  But  the  fact 
remains  that  I  am  already  with  these  people.  And  I 
intend  to  stay  there  until  the  end !  " 

"  But  what  end?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

"  It  will  not  be  the  end  you  expect,"  was  her  tran- 
quil-toned reply. 

"  I  know  your  position,  and  I  know  what  it  leads 
to." 

"  Yet  hopeless  as  that  position  appears,  I  may  en- 
joy advantages  unknown  to  my  enemies." 

"  I  am  not  your  enemy.     I  have  no  desire  to  be." 

"  In  that,"  she  answered,  "  I  cannot  believe  you." 

"  But  I  have  nothing  to  gain  in  all  this." 

"  That  is  the  one  thing  I  doubt,"  she  replied,  after 
a  slight  pause. 

"  How  can  I  prove  it?  " 

She  pondered  a  moment. 

"  By  going  quietly  through  that  door,  returning  to 
your  hotel,  and  taking  the  night  boat  for  Naples,  and 
from  Naples  returning  to  Paris." 

Kestner  did  not  even  smile. 

"  It  will  be  for  your  own  good,"  she  warned  him, 
*'  for  your  own  safety." 


78  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  That  is  a  feature  of  the  situation  on  which  I  am 
not  permitted  to  figure,"  he  said. 

She  glanced  at  the  leather-bound  travelling  clock  on 
the  table  in  front  of  her. 

"  It  is  more  dangerous,  every  moment  you  stay," 
she  said,  and  he  felt  sure  her  uneasiness  was  not  a  pre- 
tence. He  crossed  to  the  table  and  stood  in  front  of 
her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  quite  close  to  her,  "  I 
don't  believe  you're  as  brave  as  you'd  have  me  believe, 
or  as  hard  as  they've  tried  to  make  you !  You're  not 
that  sort !  I  can't  believe  it ! ' 

She  was  about  to  answer  him,  with  her  eyes  still 
fixed  on  his,  when  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  change 
crept  over  her  face.  The  lips  framing  themselves  to 
speak  remained  silent.  Her  gaze  did  not  actually 
wander  from  his  face,  yet  he  knew  that  into  her  line  of 
vision  some  outer  and  newer  element  had  entered. 

He  had  no  time  to  determine  what  this  was.  But 
at  the  same  moment  that  it  flashed  home  to  his  wonder- 
ing mind  that  a  door  behind  had  opened  and  some  one 
had  stealthily  entered  the  room,  he  heard  her  voice, 
a  little  thin  and  shrill  with  fear. 

"  Tony  —  don't  snoot!  " 

He  saw  her  hand  dart  out  to  the  corner  of  the  table. 
The  movement  was  so  quick  that  it  left  him  no  time 
to  determine  its  significance.  But  the  next  instant  the 
room  was  in  utter  darkness. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  he  heard  her  pleading,  almost  in  a 
frenzy.  "  Not  yet  —  not  yet !  " 

Kestner  swung  his  body  about  the  corner  of  the 
table,  stooping  low  as  he  did  so.  He  brushed  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  79 

woman's  skirts,  and  crouched  there.  He  could  hear 
her  breathing,  quick  and  tense,  as  she  waited.  Yet 
even  at  that  moment  he  was  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
he  did  not  want  her  to  know  he  was  hiding  there,  that 
he  was  using  her  as  a  shield. 

It  was  then  that  he  heard  Morello's  voice  out  of  the 
darkness,  quite  close  to  him. 

"  No ! "  proclaimed  the  Neapolitan,  with  a  catch  of 
the  breath  that  was  almost  a  grunt  of  contempt.  "  I 
will  not  shoot !  But  I  will  cut  his  heart  out !  " 

Kestner  edged  forward  to  the  table  again,  padding 
quickly  and  lightly  about  its  surface.  He  had  started 
to  grope  through  the  foolish  and  faded  black  draperies 
for  his  own  automatic,  when  he  remembered  the  other 
revolver  which  the  woman  had  taken  from  the  drawer. 
He  felt  a  little  easier  in  mind  when  he  held  it  in  his 
hand. 

As  he  backed  away  again  he  could  hear  Morello 
cross  the  room.  He  listened  intently,  for  he  had  no 
love  for  naked  steel.  The  next  moment  he  heard  a  key 
turned  in  a  lock,  and  then  the  sound  of  the  key  with- 
drawn. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  asked  the  woman's  voice 
through  the  blackness.  Kestner  knew  she  was  still 
standing  close  behind  the  table. 

"  Turn  on  the  lights,"  panted  Morello. 

Kestner  dropped  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  wormed 
his  way  over  to  where  he  remembered  the  wires  ran 
from  the  table  to  the  floor.  He  caught  and  twisted 
them  together,  using  the  revolver-barrel  for  a  lever. 
He  twisted  them  until  they  snapped  under  the  strain. 
He  knew  then  that  the  light-circuit  was  broken. 


80  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Turn  on  the  lights ! "  cried  Morello,  this  time  in 
a  command. 

"  When  you  promise  to  do  what  I  say,"  contended 
the  woman  at  the  table. 

An  oath  escaped  the  Neapolitan. 

"  Do  you  want  that  man  to  escape?  " 

Kestner,  as  he  crouched  low,  awaiting  his  chance, 
wondered  if  she  did  or  not.  He  knew  he  still  carried 
a  key  for  that  carefully  locked  door.  He  also  knew 
that  it  would  have  to  be  used  silently.  So  he  crouched 
there,  still  waiting. 

"  Oh,  I'll  get  you !  "  he  heard  that  Americanised 
Neapolitan  voice  announce,  with  still  another  oath. 
The  Secret  Agent  felt,  from  the  sound  of  that  voice, 
that  his  opponent  had  retreated  to  the  farther  wall,  so 
as  to  command  a  full  view  of  the  place. 

The  next  moment  a  white  bulb  of  light  exploded  on 
the  darkness,  wavered  about  the  wall,  and  pencilled 
for  one  interrogative  moment  towards  the  locked  door. 

Kestner  knew  that  Morello  had  turned  on  a  pocket 
flash-light.  As  quick  as  the  thought  came  home  to 
him,  and  before  the  light  could  steady  itself,  he  aimed 
directly  into  the  heart  of  the  bulb  and  fired. 

There  was  a  gasp  from  the  woman,  a  cry  from  the 
man.  But  the  light  went  out.  And  at  the  same  mo- 
ment that  he  pulled  the  trigger  Kestner  leapt  to  one 
side.  He  ran  with  cat-like  quickness,  for  he  knew 
what  was  coming. 

He  was  almost  at  the  locked  door  before  the  first 
shots  of  that  quick  volley  rang  through  the  room. 
And  he  knew  the  shots  were  being  fired  at  the  quarter 
in  which  the  flash  of  his  own  gun  had  shown  itself. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  81 

He  was  at  the  door,  and  his  key  was  in  the  lock,  be- 
fore the  reverberations  from  that  volley  had  died 
down.  He  had  the  door  open  and  had  sidled  out  be- 
fore he  heard  Morello's  repeated  command  for  light, 
and  the  woman's  distracted  cry  that  she  could  not 
turn  them  on. 

Kestner,  listening  to  their  contending  voices,  closed 
the  door  and  locked  it.  He  decided,  on  second 
thoughts,  to  leave  the  key  where  it  stood.  Then  he 
groped  his  way  through  the  velvety  blackness  to  the 
street  door.  As  he  expected,  he  found  it  locked.  But 
for  this,  too,  he  still  carried  his  pass-key. 

He  opened  the  door  quickly  but  cautiously,  dread- 
ing what  the  sound  of  those  shots  might  at  any  mo- 
ment bring  about  him.  It  had  never  been  an  inviting 
neighbourhood:  and  it  was  no  longer  an  inviting 
household. 

He  held  his  automatic  in  his  right  hand  as  he 
slipped  through  the  partly  opened  door  and  faced  the 
narrow  street.  He  saw  that  street  lying  peacefully 
before  him,  bathed  in  its  white  Sicilian  moonlight. 
He  could  see  the  serrated  shadow-edge  of  the  house- 
fronts  dividing  the  roadway,  one  half  in  moonlight, 
one  half  in  unbroken  darkness. 

It  was  as  he  squinted  down  this  tranquil  moonlit 
vista,  feeling  sure  that  Wilsnach  would  be  coming  on 
the  run  at  any  moment,  that  the  gloom  opposite  him 
was  stabbed  by  a  jet  of  flame. 

Kestner,  at  the  same  moment,  stumbled  back  with  a 
sense  of  shock.  He  awakened,  the  next  second,  first 
to  a  stinging  sensation  along  the  top  of  the  head,  and 
next  to  the  fact  that  he  had  dropped  back  into  a  half- 


82  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

crouching  and  half-sitting  posture  on  the  stone  door- 
step. He  threw  up  one  hand,  involuntarily,  to  find 
that  his  iron-grey  wig  had  been  whisked  from  its  place 
on  the  top  of  his  head.  He  did  not  wait  to  decipher 
this  seeming  miracle,  for  another  stab  of  flame  flashed 
from  the  gloom,  and  then  another  and  another,  from 
different  points  along  the  shadowy  line  of  houses. 

By  this  time  Kestner  had  awakened  to  what  it  all 
meant,  for  still  again  he  felt  a  quick  sting  of  pain 
across  the  ridge  of  his  shoulder.  And  his  blood 
was  up. 

It  was  then  that  he  brought  his  automatic  into  play. 
He  watched  for  his  light-flash,  and  shot  abstemiously, 
remembering  that  his  ammunition  was  limited  and  his 
period  of  defence  problematical. 

He  was  firing  with  the  second  revolver  when  Wils- 
nach  came  dodging  and  scurrying  and  fighting  his  way 
to  the  door.  He  kept  calling  out,  as  he  came  nearer, 
for  the  other  man  to  get  back  out  of  the  light. 

Kestner  did  not  get  back  out  of  the  light,  however, 
until  he  had  seized  the  panting  Wilsnach  and  swung 
him  in  through  the  half-opened  door.  Then  the  door 
was  slammed  shut  and  a  key  turned  in  the  lock.  The 
darkness  was  Cimmerian.  But  Wilsnach  could  feel 
Kestner  catching  and  tugging  at  his  coat-sleeve. 

"  Quick !  "  cried  the  Secret  Agent.  "  They're  on 
both  sides  of  us  here !  " 

"  But  are  you  hurt  ?  "  demanded  Wilsnach. 

"  I've  got*  a  scratch  or  two,"  was  the  other's  hur- 
ried answer.  "  But  we'll  be  getting  a  heap  worse  if 
we're  not  out  of  here  in  three  minutes ! "  He  was 
dragging  Wilsnach  back  deeper  into  the  velvety  dark- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  83 

ness.  "D'you  hear  them?  They'll  have  that  door 
down  in  a  jiffy!  " 

"  But  we  can't  hide  in  this  hole !  "  panted  Wilsnach. 

Kestner  was  now  stumbling  and  groping  his  way 
through  the  blackness. 

"  Come  on !  "  he  commanded. 

"  But  where?  "  demurred  Wilsnach. 

"  We've  still  got  the  wine-cellar.  There's  a  chance 
there,  if  we're  quick  enough." 

The  next  minute  they  were  running  down  a  flight 
of  stone  steps,  fumbling  with  a  door-lock,  and  grop- 
ing and  passing  their  way  along  a  mouldy  passage  be- 
tween unbroken  walls. 

"  Hurry,"  urged  Kestner.  "  And  keep  one  hand 
against  me,  through  this  crowded  press-room."  For 
he  was  groping  with  both  hands  now,  deviously, 
through  a  larger  chamber  that  smelled  of  benzine  and 
inks  and  acids,  then  fumbling  and  struggling  with  an- 
other door-knob,  and  climbing  still  another  flight  of 
stone  steps. 

"  Stoop  low ! "  panted  Kestner,  as  he  bent  a  little 
unsteadily  to  unlatch  a  small  grated  window  no  big- 
ger than  a  kennel-front.  He  swayed  from  side  to 
side  as  he  did  so,  like  a  man  uncertain  of  his  footing. 
He  was  attempting  to  scramble  up  through  the  open- 
ing, but  seemed  without  strength  to  make  it.  Wils- 
nach got  a  shoulder  under  him  and  pushed  him  up. 

When  Wilsnach  followed  he  found  Kestner  still  on 
the  flagstone  outside,  lying  flat  and  gulping  down 
quick  lungsful  of  fresh  air,  as  though  the  last  of  his 
strength  had  gone.  Wilsnach  had  to  help  the  other 
man  to  his  feet. 


84s  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

"It's  all  right,"  he  whispered.  "There's  the 
strada  just  beyond  this  wall!  " 

Wilsnach,  with  an  arm  about  his  colleague,  scur- 
ried unsteadily  along  the  deep  shadows  of  the  house- 
fronts,  rounding  a  corner  and  striking  further  east- 
ward. 

"  And  there's  a  carrozza!  "  panted  Kestner,  with 
his  hand  pressed  to  his  side. 

Wilsnach,  the  next  moment,  was  hailing  the  driver. 
Night-hawks,  the  world  over,  can  never  afford  to  be 
too  inquisitive.  So  the  swarthy  little  Sicilian  made 
no  comment  as  the  all  but  helpless  Kestner  was  lifted 
bodily  into  the  open  carriage. 

"Where  to?"  asked  Wilsnach,  jumping  in  beside 
him,  with  one  glance  back  to  make  sure  they  were  not 
being  followed. 

"  Tell  him  to  get  us  down  to  the  Via  Francesco 
Crispi,  quick ! "  was  the  determined  but  weak-toned 
answer. 

Wilsnach  repeated  the  order.  Then,  as  he  sat  back 
on  the  worn  seat-cushions,  he  stared  down  at  his  hand, 
rubbing  his  fingers  slowly  together  and  stooping  over 
them  in  the  white  moonlight. 

He  slipped  one  hand  back  over  Kestner's  left  shoul- 
der. 

"  There's  blood  on  your  coat,"  he  suddenly  an- 
nounced. The  other  man  languidly  lifted  a  hand  and 
felt  his  wet  shoulder. 

"  I  got  a  crack  on  the  collar-bone,"  he  explained, 
with  a  wan  attempt  at  a  laugh. 

"Is  that  all?" 

Again  Kestner  raised  a  languid  hand  and  felt  gin- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  85 

gerly  along  the  top  of  his  bare  head,  where  the  hair 
was  matted  and  wet  and  still  warm  to  the  touch. 

"  And  what  feels  like  a  bullet-scrape  along  my  bump 
of  veneration,"  gently  added  the  Secret  Agent. 

"  Then  we  must  get  to  a  hospital ! "  cried  out  the 
suddenly  perturbed  Wilsnach. 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  was  Kestner's  answer  as  they 
went  rattling  down  through  the  narrow  streets. 

"  Then  where  in  the  name  of  God  are  we  going?  " 
Wilsnach  suddenly  demanded. 

"  We're  going  to  the  water-front,  where  we  can  find 
a  boatman ! " 

"  A  boatman  ?  "  echoed  Wilsnach. 

"  A  boatman  to  get  us  out  to  the  Pawnonia"  was 
Kestner's  thin-timbered  but  resolute  response.  "  For 
we're  going  to  America,  old  man,  and  we're  going  on 
the  same  boat  with  the  Lamberts ! " 


PART  HI 
THE  QUARTERS  IN  MANHATTAN 


IT  was  late  the  next  afternoon,  as  the  Pannonia 
ploughed  her  way  steadily  westward  over  a  smooth 
sea,  that  Wilsnach  paced  the  white-boarded  deck  deep 
in  thought.  From  below  came  the  sound  of  guitars 
and  mandolins,  mingled  with  the  chant  of  voices.  On 
the  sun-steeped  hatch-coverings  amidships  Monte- 
negrin mothers  suckled  their  babies,  top-booted  men 
in  sheep-skins  played  cards  on  the  tar-stained  canvas, 
children  romped  and  chattered,  while  nearby  a  music- 
drunk  band  of  Hungarians  from  Fiume  danced  their 
native  Czardas. 

Wilsnach,  as  he  stopped  and  stared  down  over  the 
rail  at  this  blithe-spirited  throng,  found  small  reason 
for  sharing  in  their  merriment.  A  frown  of  trouble 
clouded  his  brow,  and  his  step  was  heavy  and  listless 
as  he  turned  back,  and  for  the  tenth  time  paused  ir- 
resolutely before  Kestner's  cabin  door. 

Then  he  took  a  deep  breath,  knocked  determinedly 
on  the  white-leaded  panel,  and  stepped  into  the  narrow 
stateroom. 

He  stood  staring  anxiously  down  at  Kestner  as  the 
latter  sat  up  in  his  berth,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his 
one  free  hand.  For  Kestner's  left  arm  was  in  a  sling, 
and  the  shoulder  above  it  was  ridged  high  with  much 
bandaging.  A  narrow  helmet  of  pink  sticking-plaster 

along  the  top  of  his  head  stood  up  startlingly  like  a 

89 


90  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

cock's  comb.  And  the  Secret  Agent's  face,  Wilsnach 
noticed,  was  without  its  usual  touch  of  colour. 

"  You've  had  a  great  sleep,"  began  the  dolorous- 
eyed  Wilsnach,  glancing  down  at  his  watch. 

"  I  needed  it,"  was  Kestner's  reply.  "  And  that 
bull-headed  ship's  doctor  made  me  take  a  bromide." 

"  How  are  you  feeling?  "  Wilsnach  was  plainly 
evading  some  sterner  issue  which  he  found  it  hard  to 
approach. 

"  Much  better  —  but  like  the  day  after  a  big 
game ! " 

"  That's  good !  "  temporised  the  other. 

"  But  where  are  we?  "  Kestner  suddenly  asked. 

"  Eleven  hours  out  from  Palermo." 

Kestner  settled  back  more  comfortably  on  his  pil- 
low. 

"  And  when  do  we  get  to  Gib  ?  " 

"  We  don't  stop  at  Gibraltar  westward-bound,"  was 
Wilsnach's  listless  answer. 

"  You're  sure?  " 

"  Positive ! " 

Kestner  emitted  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  That  makes  it  all  the  easier  for  us.  That  means 
our  troubles  are  pretty  well  over." 

Wilsnach  moved  uneasily  about  the  cabin.  The» 
he  turned  and  met  the  mildly  inquiring  glance  of  his 
chief. 

"  Our  troubles  are  not  over,"  he  solemnly  amended. 

Kestner  sat  up  with  a  jerk  that  made  him  wince. 
Then,  as  though  already  apprehending  the  ill-news 
which  had  not  yet  been  enunciated,  he  made  an  effort 
to  pull  himself  together. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  91 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  quietly  inquired. 

"  The  Lamberts  are  not  on  this  boat,"  was  Wils- 
nach's  answer. 

Kestner  made  no  movement  and  no  word  escaped  his 
lips.  He  was  inured  to  those  disappointments  which 
obtain  in  a  calling  where  the  unexpected  must  so  often 
be  accepted.  But  this,  Wilsnach  knew  and  had  known 
all  morning,  was  not  an  easy  pill  to  swallow.  It 
spelt  confusion  to  all  their  plans,  if  not  the  end  of 
all  their  hopes.  It  meant  another  escape  and  another 
slow  and  toilsome  gathering  up  of  ghostly  clues.  And 
Wilsnach  knew,  as  Kestner  sat  deep  in  troubled 
thought,  that  it  was  taking  no  little  effort  of  the  will 
to  readjust  consciousness  to  the  newer  situation. 

"  But  you  saw  them  come  aboard? "  the  Secret 
Agent  finally  asked. 

"  They  came  an  hour  after  we  did,  at  least  Lam- 
bert landed  and  came  back  with  a  woman  who  wore  a 
veil.  That  woman  must  have  been  Maura  Lambert. 
In  fact,  I'm  sure  it  was  Maura  Lambert,  although,  of 
course,  I  couldn't  get  a  clear  look  at  her  face.  Lam- 
bert went  to  his  stateroom,  and  I  watched  his  door 
until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  was  all  in  then, 
falling  asleep  without  knowing  it.  I  knew  there  was 
no  use  trying  to  stir  you  out,  so  I  paid  an  English 
steward  to  keep  guard  until  morning,  on  both  doors, 
the  old  man's  and  the  girl's." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  that  steward,"  interrupted  Kestner. 

"  It's  no  use,"  explained  Wilsnach ;  "  he's  merely  a 
blockhead,  and  was  ordered  below  before  I  could  get 
back.  The  stateroom  doors  were  locked,  but  both  the 
girl  and  the  old  man  were  gone." 


"But  when?     And  how?" 

"  There  were  boats  going  back  and  forth  all  the 
time  —  they  could  have  slipped  down  the  accommoda- 
tion-ladder at  any  moment  before  daybreak.  No,  it 
wasn't  that  steward.  Some  one  else  must  have  given 
the  tip.  You  know  these  Sicilians  —  they  all  have  a 
wireless  system  of  their  own,  a  crook  of  the  arm  or 
the  shift  of  an  eye  can  always  mean  something  we 
can't  understand.  And  they  got  the  tip  —  wherever 
it  came  from !  " 

"  So  we  are  not  to  sail  together,"  meditated  Kest- 
ner. 

"  And  we  can't  go  back,"  was  Wilsnach's  dolorous 
amendment. 

Kestner  sat  up  again,  deep  in  thought.  Through 
the  intricacies  of  that  thought  Wilsnach  was  incapa- 
ble of  following  him,  for  the  man  from  the  Paris  Of- 
fice had  always  been  content  to  travel  behind  his  trail- 
blazing  leader. 

"  We  don't  want  to  go  back ! "  Kestner  announced 
with  sudden  energy.  "  We  can't  go  back  any  more 
than  Lambert  can.  He  can't  stay  in  Palermo,  for  he 
knows  he's  been  dug  out  of  his  warren  there.  Paris 
is  impossible.  England  is  out  of  the  question.  He 
was  headed  for  America,  equipped  for  an  American 
campaign.  And  to  America  he  will  go.  Only,  he'll 
go  by  a  quicker  route  than  this.  This  southern  route 
will  take  us  eleven  days  from  Gibraltar  to  New  York. 
Before  we're  two  days  out  in  the  Atlantic  Lambert  can 
get  through  Paris  and  land  at  Dover,  scoot  across  to 
Fishguard,  and  catch  the  Lusitania  for  the  other 
side." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  93 

"  Provided  that  is  their  plan,"  agreed  Wilsnach. 

"  That  will  give  them  nearly  a  week's  start  of  us 
again ! " 

Kestner  countered  Wilsnach's  haggard  eye  with  the 
ghost  of  a  grin.  "  And  what's  a  week,  Wilsnach,  with 
men  like  us  ?  " 

He  was  reminding  himself  of  the  consolatory  axiom 
that  the  Law  never  forgets  —  and  he  was  on  the  side 
of  the  Law.  It  was  equally  self-evident  that  offenders 
against  that  Law  could  not  and  did  not  forever  con- 
ceal themselves,  even  with  a  whole  continent  to  wan- 
der about  in.  No  matter  how  well  under  cover  they 
might  place  themselves,  there  were  times  when  they 
had  to  emerge  into  the  open,  as  whales  come  up  to 
breathe. 

"  If  we  could  only  be  sure  they  were  headed  that 
way !  "  suggested  the  still  lugubrious  Wilsnach. 

"  Well,  we'll  do  what  we  can  to  make  sure,"  con- 
tended the  unshaken  Kestner  as  he  felt  tenderly  along 
the  bandaging  over  his  collar-bone.  "  And  since  we're 
not  exactly  clairvoyants,  we'll  work  that  wireless  until 
its  aerials  wear  out ! " 


n 

KESTNER,  no  longer  wearing  his  pink  cock's  comb 
and  his  arm-sling,  stared  over  the  ship's  rail  as  his 
liner,  having  slipped  through  Quarantine  a  few  min- 
utes before  sunset,  crept  from  the  Upper  Bay  into  the 
narrower  reaches  of  the  North  River.  He  stared  dis- 
consolately at  the  city  of  his  birth,  depressed  by  that 
thin  misery  which  so  often  returns  to  the  traveller 
who  remembers  that  he  has  become  a  man  without  a 
country. 

"  So  that's  New  York ! "  sighed  Wilsnach,  close  be- 
side him  at  the  ship's  rail. 

Kestner  continued  to  look  at  the  precipitous  sky- 
line of  the  city  shouldering  up  into  the  misty  evening 
light,  the  incomparable  outline  of  man's  effort  and  as- 
piration. Yet  he  looked  at  it  only  as  a  hunter  stares 
into  an  unbroken  woodland. 

Somewhere  in  that  undecipherable  warren  of  steel 
and  stone  lurked  the  fugitives  whom  it  was  his  duty  to 
find.  Somewhere  amid  that  tangle  and  welter  of  life, 
he  remembered,  were  Lambert  and  Lambert's  daugh- 
ter. And  the  whole  aim  and  object  of  Kestner's  ex- 
istence, once  that  liner  had  docked,  was  to  seek  out 
this  perilous  pair  and  protect  that  undreaming  city 
from  their  attacks. 

"  And  we've  lost  a  week !  "  persisted  the  still  melan- 
choly-minded Wilsnach,  whose  thoughts  had  obviously 

followed  the  same  line  as  Kestner's. 

94 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  95 

The  other  man  took  out  a  cigar  and  smiled. 

"  But  we've  got  a  whole  skin  on  our  bodies  again," 
he  cheerily  corrected.  "  And  the  subtler  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  our  sagest  deductions  have  practically 
been  verified !  "  . 

As  he  smoked  at  the  ship's  rail,  lazily  watching  the 
broken  skyline  in  front  of  him,  already  stippled  like 
a  snake's  back  with  its  innumerable  lights,  the  Pan- 
nonia's  wireless  operator  hurried  to  his  side. 

This  alert-minded  youth  and  Kestner  had  already 
transacted  much  confidential  business  together,  so  no 
word  was  spoken  as  he  thrust  the  loose  sheets  into  the 
Secret  Agent's  hand. 

Then  the  operator  stood  at  the  other  man's  side, 
staring  for  a  moment  at  the  unparalleled  panorama 
of  the  evening  city. 

"  When  did  these  come  ?  "  asked  Kestner  as  he  cas- 
ually unfolded  the  slightly  crumpled  sheets.  He  did 
so  without  haste  and  with  no  anxiety  as  to  the  mes- 
sage which  they  might  carry. 

Yet  he  saw,  to  his  surprise,  that  they  were  in  the 
secret  code  of  the  Department.  It  took  him  several 
moments  to  translate  the  first  message  into  intelligi- 
bility. Then  he  stood  with  an  odd  catch  of  the 
breath,  staring  down  at  the  fluttering  yellow  sheet. 
For  the  message  read: 

"  Local  agents  are  completing  Lambert  case.  Don't 
complicate,  but  catch  Mauretania  with  Wilsnach  to-night 
for  Fishguard  and  report  promptly  at  Paris  Office  for  in- 
struction on  Stillwell  pearl  smuggling  case." 

The  message  bore  the  signature  of  the  Service  head 


96  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

himself.  It  left  Kestner  inwardly  disturbed.  Yet, 
stirred  as  he  was,  he  betrayed  no  emotion  as  he  pon- 
dered the  second  enigmatic  row  of  words.  This  second 
message  was  equally  explicit.  He  noticed,  even  before 
fully  deciphering  its  meaning,  that  it  was  signed  by 
the  Secretary  of  the  Department  himself.  Then  he 
went  back  and  translated  the  code. 

"  Department  taken  over  Lambert  case  and  round  up 
of  trio  assured.  Act  promptly  on  Byrne's  wired  instruc- 
tions and  consult  mail  already  despatched  Paris  Office." 

Kestner  stared  down  at  the  message  for  several 
seconds.  His  first  vague  feeling  of  frustration  had 
already  given  way  to  a  quick  sense  of  revolt,  of  indig- 
nation at  official  tyranny.  He  felt  like  a  player 
ordered  off  the  field  at  the  first  innings  —  and  ordered 
off  because  of  his  own  unforgiveable  error.  He  was 
alive  to  the  reproof  in  those  two  messages.  He  saw 
that  he  had  been  superseded.  He  had  crossed  the 
Atlantic  on  a  wild  goose  chase.  He  had  travelled  five 
thousand  miles  only  to  be  sent  back  by  a  few  curt 
words  flashed  over  a  wire  and  tossed  across  the  Bay 
to  his  incoming  steamer. 

It  was  the  end  of  the  game.  Maura  Lambert  and 
her  activities  were  no  longer  a  thing  of  moment  to  him. 
She  and  her  fellow  conspirators  had  passed  on  to 
other  hands.  The  most  alluring  case  on  which  he  had 
ever  worked  had  been  snatched  from  him.  And  the 
most  alluring  woman  he  had  ever  had  occasion  to 
shadow  had  suddenly  been  carried  out  of  his  world. 
And  this  meant  that  she  too  had  come  to  the  end  of 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  97 

her  game.  He  had  hoped  to  figure  in  that  end.  But 
it  had  been  ordered  otherwise. 

Kestner  handed  the  fluttering  sheets  over  to  the 
patiently-waiting  Wilsnach. 

"  We're  out  of  it,"  he  announced,  though  it  took 
an  effort  to  speak  as  lightly  as  he  wished. 

"  Out  of  what?  "  asked  Wilsnach. 

"  Read  them !  "  was  all  Kestner  said. 

Wilsnach  frowned  over  the  two  despatches  for  sev- 
eral seconds.  Then  he  too  looked  disconsolately  up, 
and  stared  at  the  broken  skyline  of  the  evening  city 
and  the  crowded  waterways  and  the  ever  shuttling 
ferries  and  harbour-tugs. 

"  Why,  this  means  we've  got  to  get  aboard  the 
Mauretania  to-night ! "  Kestner  heard  his  companion 
exclaim.  "  This  is  Wednesday,  and  she'll  sail  an  hour 
after  midnight.  We  can't  even  get  to  a  hotel." 

Kestner  quietly  lighted  a  cigar  and  leaned  on  the 
ship's  rail. 

"  It's  all  in  the  game ! "  he  said  as  he  folded  up  the 
messages. 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do?  "  asked  Wilsnach. 

"  The  only  thing  there  is  to  do,"  was  Kestner's 
answer.  "  First  make  sure  of  a  stateroom  on  that 
steamer  and  then  buy  some  clothes.  Of  course  we 
might  do  the  Avenue  and  the  Drive  in  a  taxi,  with 
dinner  at  Delmonico's,  say,  for  the  sake  of  old  times." 

"  It'll  seem  like  a  funeral !  "  scoffed  Wilsnach. 

"  Well,  it  is  one !  "  acknowledged  Kestner. 


Ill 

IT  was  the  theatre  hour,  the  hour  when  the  city 
flutters  with  solemn  excitement  like  a  bird  fluttering 
in  its  bath.  In  that  valley  of  light  known  as  Broad- 
way motor-cars  and  taxi-cabs  hummed  and  throbbed 
and  circled  up  to  brightly-lighted  foyers  and  were  off 
again,  like  hungry  trout  in  search  of  dusk's  most 
glittering  flies.  Electric  sky-signs  flashed  and  shim- 
mered in  every  colour  of  the  rainbow,  street  crowds 
moved  and  gathered  and  moved  again,  lines  of  traffic 
pulsed  intermittently  along  the  side-streets,  and  over 
all  hung  that  vague  and  misty  aura  of  light  which 
could  crown  even  canyons  of  concrete  with  a  wayward 
sense  of  beauty. 

Kestner  leaned  forward  in  his  taxi  seat,  drinking  it 
in  with  hungrily  unhappy  eyes.  They  had  already 
explored  Fifth  Avenue  to  the  lonelier  reaches  of  the 
upper  city,  and  had  swung  sadly  down  through  the 
wooded  silences  of  Central  Park,  and  had  wandered  by 
way  of  Seventy-second  Street  over  to  Riverside  Drive, 
and  had  stopped  to  stare  pensively  up  at  Grant's 
Tomb,  and  had  swung  down  Broadway  again,  bewil- 
dered by  the  changes  which  had  crept  over  a  city 
altering  with  every  altering  season.  And  now,  made 
doubly  melancholy  by  the  hilarity  which  beleaguered 
them  from  every  side,  they  were  making  their  way 
back  to  Fifth  Avenue  and  their  belated  dinner  at 

Delmonico's. 

98 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  99 

Kestner  stared  out  at  the  hurrying  stream  of  faces, 
eager  and  yet  unelated.  He  continued  to  peer  out 
as  the  taxi-cab  came  to  a  standstill  before  the  im- 
perious arm  of  a  traffic-squad  officer.  He  watched  the 
cross-section  of  suspended  traffic  which  the  same  im- 
perious arm  sent  shuttling  across  their  right-of-way, 
like  waters  loosened  from  an  opened  sluice-gate. 

Then,  in  a  passing  car,  he  caught  one  fleeting 
glimpse  of  a  woman's  face.  Her  beauty  may  have 
seemed  no  more  pictorial  than  that  of  a  hundred  faces 
he  had  already  passed.  Yet  there  was  a  sudden  trip 
and  skip  of  the  pulse  as  he  stared  out  at  that  transi- 
tory picture  made  by  the  soft  pallor  of  an  oval  face 
framed  against  the  gloom  of  a  cab-hood. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  demanded  Wilsnach  as  their  taxi 
started  forward  with  a  jerk. 

Kestner,  who  had  risen,  did  not  answer  him.  He 
was  already  struggling  with  the  cab-door  and  calling 
aloud  to  his  driver.  Then  he  saw  it  was  useless.  An 
intervening  tumult  of  traffic  was  sweeping  them  on, 
like  a  chip  on  a  stream.  The  oval  face  and  the  un- 
known carriage  were  already  lost  in  the  crowd. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  repeated  Wilsnach,  as  Kest- 
ner dropped  back  in  his  seat. 

For  several  seconds  the  Secret  Agent's  face  was 
blank  with  preoccupation  as  they  swung  from  Long- 
acre  Square  into  Forty-fourth  Street,  and  went  purr- 
ing on  towards  the  quieter  areas  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

"  Among  other  things,"  said  Kestner,  with  the  ghost 
of  a  sigh,  "  I  just  remembered  that  I'm  as  hungry  as  a 
hound-pup,  and  here's  Delmonico's !  " 

This  acknowledgment  of  hunger  was  confirmed  by 


100  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

the  meal  that  ensued.  Kestner's  sense  of  depression 
seemed  to  have  forsaken  him.  He  became  more  com- 
municative, more  interested  in  the  people  about  him. 
Yet  twice  he  deserted  the  table  on  the  excuse  of  a 
telephone-call,  and  twice  Wilsnach  was  left  to  listen 
idly  to  the  music  and  stare  at  the  multi-coloured  rai- 
ment of  the  white-shouldered  women  and  ponder  over 
Kestner's  prolonged  absence. 

Wilsnach  knew  by  the  other's  air  of  abstraction  as 
he  resumed  his  seat  that  something  out  of  the  ordinary 
was  in  the  air.  And  knowing  his  man,  he  was  content 
to  wait.  But  time  slipped  by,  and  still  Kestner  sat 
in  a  brown  study. 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  to  be  getting  aboard  that 
steamer,"  suggested  Wilsnach  after  a  listless  glance 
at  his  watch. 

Kestner  stared  across  the  rose-shaded  table  at  him. 
The  music  of  the  distant  orchestra  was  pleasing  to  the 
ear ;  the  coffee  had  been  irreproachable ;  and  Kestner's 
fresh  cigar  was  precisely  his  idea  of  what  a  cigar 
should  be. 

"Why?"  he  asked  with  half-humorous  indolence. 
The  lazy  tone  of  that  question  made  Wilsnach  look  up. 
For  the  latter  had  long  since  learned  that  when  his 
friend  was  most  somnolent  of  eye  he  was  most  alert 
of  mind. 

"  Because  by  daylight  we've  got  to  be  out  on  the 
rolling  deep." 

"  Wilsnach,  that's  where  you're  wrong,"  quietly  an- 
nounced the  other  man. 

"  In  what  way?  "  inquired  Wilsnach,  feeling,  for  all 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  101 

the  other's  quietness,  the  approach  of  something 
epochal. 

"  It  is  quite  true  that  within  an  hour  we  shall  go 
aboard  the  Mauretania.  But  morning  will  not  see  us 
on  the  rolling  deep !  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because,  once  aboard  that  liner,  we  shall  quietly 
disembark  from  her  other  side  —  by  way,  I  mean,  of 
one  of  the  lighters  in  the  slip." 

"  Go  on,"  prompted  Wilsnach.  Life  had  always 
been  too  full  of  surprises  to  let  a  small  bouleversement 
like  this  bewilder  him. 

"  We  shall  then  with  equal  quietness  proceed  to  a 
hotel.  And  in  the  morning,  instead  of  watching  the 
waves  and  betting  on  the  day's  run,  I  fancy  we  shall 
both  be  rather  busy." 

"At  what?" 

"  At  the  task  which  has  been  engaging  us  for  some 
time,  Wilsnach,  that  of  rounding  up  this  Lambert 
gang." 

The  agent  from  the  Paris  Office  sat  absorbing  this 
ultimatum. 

"  And  what  changed  the  Chief's  mind  ?  "  he  finally 
inquired. 

"  The  Chief  has  not  changed  his  mind.  It  merely 
happens  that  I  have  changed  mine." 

"What  made  you?" 

"  Remembering  certain  things,  two  of  which  stand 
out  conspicuously  from  the  others.  The  first  is  that 
this  gang  I  speak  of  can  lay  claim  to  the  most  expert 
forger  that  ever  handled  a  pen." 


102  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  That's  the  woman !  " 

"  Precisely.  And  the  second  is  that  when  Lambert 
took  possession  of  my  personal  effects  in  that  Paris 
studio,  he  got,  among  other  things,  my  Department 
pocket  cipher-code." 

"  Which  would  do  him  precious  little  good ! " 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  was  of  sufficient  value  to 
enable  him  to  hurry  on  to  Washington  with  the  girl, 
pick  up  what  he  could  of  the  Department  procedure, 
and  then  have  the  girl  forge  two  signatures  to 
despatches  addressed  to  the  incoming  steamer  Pan- 
nonia.  That's  the  situation.  Those  messages  were 
made  to  bear  every  evidence  of  being  official.  The  one 
feature  missing  was  the  fact  that  they  were  sent  from 
a  district  office  and  not  from  the  Department's  own 
operator." 

"  You  mean  they  faked  those  two  wires  ?  "  This 
time  Wilsnach  could  not  dissemble  his  astonishment. 

"  I  do.  And  it  strikes  me  as  being  about  as  bold 
a  bit  of  work  to  head  off  pursuit  as  I  ever  encountered. 
I  take  off  my  hat  to  Lambert ! " 

"  But  are  you  sure,  dead  sure  ?  " 

Kestner  smiled. 

"  I've  been  talking  to  both  Cuddeback  and  the  Chief 
himself,  on  long  distance.  No  such  messages  ever 
came  out  of  the  Department." 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  We're  to  keep  after  Lambert  and  his  gang  until 
we  get  them  and  get  them  right.  We're  to  keep  on 
that  trail  until  we  run  the  last  man  down." 

Wilsnach's  perplexity  did  not  disappear. 

"  But  it's  not  even  a  trail,"  he  protested.     "  We 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  103 

know  they're  in  America.  But  America  happens  to 
be  quite  a  sized  continent." 

Kestner  smoked  on  for  a  meditative  minute  or  two. 

"  It's  a  small  world,  Wilsnach,  when  you're  trying 
to  hide  in  it.  Do  you  recall  that  Paris  case  of  Elise 
Van  Damme  —  how  the  girl's  head  was  found  in  a 
doorway,  wrapped  in  paper,  without  a  single  clue, 
except  an  old  brass  key?  Our  friend  Hamard  visited 
eight  thousand  houses,  eight  thousand,  mind  you,  and 
tested  over  fifty  thousand  door-locks,  before  he  got 
on  the  trail.  But  in  the  end  he  found  his  man  and 
unravelled  that  mystery." 

"  But  we  haven't  even  the  brass  key,"  demurred 
Wilsnach. 

"  We  have  something  better,"  amended  his  com- 
panion. "  We  have  the  knowledge  that  Maura  Lam- 
bert is  in  this  city  at  this  present  moment." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that?  " 

"  Because  we  passed  her  in  an  automobile,  in  Long- 
acre  Square,  not  three  hours  ago !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  I  know  it  because  I  saw  her." 

Wilsnach  sat  staring  at  the  other  man.  He  even 
yentured  a  slightly  satiric  smile. 

"  You  should  have  every  reason  to  remember  her," 
he  had  the  temerity  to  remark. 

"  What's  more  important,  Wilsnach,  we  should  have 
every  reason  for  finding  her  again.  And  to-morrow 
we  take  up  the  trail." 

"  But  why  wait  until  to-morrow  ?  " 

Kestner  leaned  forward  across  the  table. 

"  Don't  you  realise  that  we're  being  watched,  from 


104  THE  HAND  OF  PERU, 

some  quarter  or  other,  ever  since  we  landed  from  that 
steamer?  We've  been  shadowed.  And  don't  you  sup- 
pose we'll  be  shadowed  until  we  go  aboard  the  Maure- 
tania  to-night?  That's  why  we're  going  to  turn 
Lambert's  trick  on  his  own  gang  and  go  over  the  side 
into  a  lighter  when  they  imagine  we're  safe  in  our 
cabin.  This  is  a  stage  of  the  game,  Wilsnach,  when 
we've  got  to  make  good,  as  they  say  on  this  side  of  the 
water." 

"  I'm  ready,"  said  Wilsnach,  not  without  relish,  as 
he  sat  thinking  the  situation  over. 

"  Then  here's  where  we  start,"  announced  the  list- 
less-eyed Secret  Agent  as  he  rose  from  the  table  and 
glanced  casually  about.  But  Wilsnach,  as  he  followed 
him  into  the  open,  knew  that  listless  glance  was  only  a 
mask  behind  which  a  quick  brain  was  already  at  work. 


IV 

IT  was  seven  days  later  that  Wilsnach  patiently 
awaited  Kestner's  visit  to  that  comparatively  obscure 
uptown  hotel  in  which  the  Agent  from  the  Paris  Office 
had  installed  himself  as  a  cattle-buyer  from  the  Argen- 
tine. 

Wilsnach's  mood  was  as  dispirited  as  the  weather, 
for  a  heavy  rain  was  falling.  It  was  falling  without 
interruption,  leaving  the  upper  streets  of  the  city  as 
desolate  as  a  glacial  moraine.  And  the  cattle-buyer 
from  the  Argentine,  quite  apart  from  the  weather, 
found  little  in  which  to  exult.  His  week  had  been  a 
busy  enough  one.  But  it  had  resulted  in  little  beyond 
a  renewed  acquaintance  with  the  city  of  his  youth. 
Official  quarters  had  been  unofficially  sounded,  unsav- 
oury friends  of  the  underworld  had  been  duly  interro- 
gated, an  unbroken  line  of  espionage  had  been  quietly 
established,  and  every  likely  corner  of  Greater  New 
York  had  been  invaded  and  inspected.  He  had  twice 
encountered  Kestner,  first  as  a  black-bearded  Latin- 
American  in  the  coffee-business,  and  later  as  a  munici- 
pal water-inspector,  but  on  neither  occasion  did  his 
fellow-worker  have  anything  definite  to  tell  him.  Wils- 
nach had  not  happened  on  the  faintest  echo  as  to 
where  Lambert  and  his  confederates  were  hidden  away. 
And  again  the  Agent  from  the  Paris  Office  felt  that 

Kestner  had  made  the  mistake  of  his  life  in  keeping 

105 


106  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

the  chase  a  personal  one,  in  ever  letting  his  quarry 
slip  in  past  the  Port  authorities. 

So  Wilsnach  showed  little  enthusiasm  as  he  turned 
to  greet  his  colleague,  an  hour  late,  and  on  this  occa- 
sion a  spare-looking  figure  in  clericals  and  horn-bow 
spectacles.  He  remembered  that  the  taxi-cab  trail 
had  proved  a  blind  one,  that  two  days  as  a  gas  com- 
pany employe  had  brought  in  nothing,  and  that  each 
different  drag-net  at  each  cast  had  come  up  empty. 
So  Wilsnach  stood  a  little  resentful  of  the  fixed 
optimism  of  the  gentleman  in  clericals  as  the  latter 
struck  a  match,  lighted  the  inevitable  cigar,  and  for 
the  second  time  peered  out  along  the  empty  hallway. 

His  back  was  still  to  Wilsnach,  for  he  was  turning 
the  key  in  the  lock  when  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  I've  found  'em ! "  was  his  quiet  announce- 
ment. 

At  those  four  words  the  gloom  suddenly  went  out 
of  the  day.  Life  took  on  a  purpose  and  the  face  of 
the  visitor  from  the  Argentine  took  on  a  less  morose 
expression. 

"  Where  ?  "  was  his  quick  query. 

Kestner  inspected  the  room,  closed  a  window,  and 
then  came  and  sat  close  beside  the  other  man.  When 
he  spoke,  he  spoke  very  quietly. 

"  Like  monarchs,  in  a  brownstone  mansion  on  Fifty- 
first  Street,  just  off  the  Avenue." 

Wilsnach  took  a  deep  breath.  "  Posing  as  what  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  Not  posing  at  all !  Just  sedately  living  there,  the 
same  as  other  people  live  on  Fifty-first  Street.  They 
must  have  leased  it  furnished,  for  the  season." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  107 

**  I  should  call  that  nerve." 

"  And  also  good  judgment.  It's  a  fine  example  of 
what  you  might  term  the  privacy  of  conspicuity. 
Who'd  ever  think  of  digging  out  a  gang  of  refugee 
counterfeiters  from  a  rather  fashionable  private  man- 
sion with  a  two-figured  address  and  a  brownstone 
front?" 

"  Then  what  made  you  dig  them  out  ?  " 

"  It  began  with  Inky  Davis  and  skipped  to  the 
young  lady  we  knew  as  Cherry  Dreiser.  In  West 
Forty-seventh  Street,  between  Fifth  and  Sixth  Avenue, 
is  a  very  chic  little  millinery  shop.  It  is  run  by  a  very 
chic  little  woman  who  calls  herself  Mdlle.  Baby.  At 
different  times  of  the  day  some  very  fashionable-look- 
ing women  go  to  that  shop.  They  go,  in  fact,  in 
rather  surprising  numbers.  Wilsnach,  can  you  guess 
why?" 

"  It's  a  stall,  as  they  say  over  here  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  Those  plumes  and  Paris  hats  are 
merely  a  fence  behind  which  one  of  the  busiest  of 
women's  poolrooms  is  being  run.  They  have  wire 
connection  with  a  distributing  bureau  that  gives  track- 
returns  by  'phone.  They  also  have  a  very  comfort- 
able room  where  tea  and  cigarettes  can  be  served. 
Here  ladies  with  too  much  time  and  money  can  escape 
the  ewtwi  of  life  by  plunging  on  the  ponies.  And  one 
of  the  heaviest  plungers,  at  the  present  time,  happens 
to  be  our  young  friend,  Miss  Sadie  Wimpel,  alias 
Cherry  Dreiser." 

A  look  of  comprehension  crept  into  Wilsnach's  eyes. 

"  How  did  you  spot  her  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  tailed  her  from  the  Grand  Union  Hotel,  where 


108  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

she  met  her  old  friend,  Inky  Davis  the  wire-tapper. 
I  shadowed  her  twice  to  Mdlle.  Baby's.  Then  I  got  a 
girl  planted  inside,  and  found  Sadie  was  a  regular 
visitor.  She  lays  her  bets  with  considerable  judgment. 
Sometimes  she  wins,  and  sometimes  she  loses.  But 
she  doesn't  worry  over  losing.  She  doesn't  need  to. 
For  every  bill  she  pays  out  in  that  poolroom  is  one  of 
Maura  Lambert's  counterfeits!  " 

"  But  this  doesn't  sound  like  Lambert's  procedure." 

"  It  isn't  his  procedure  as  a  rule.  But  I  suppose 
he's  got  to  pay  running  expenses  until  he  effects  his 
coup.  So  he  jumped  at  the  quickest  and  safest  way 
of  uttering  his  bad  paper.  Sadie  is  his  layer  out. 
She  unloads  big  denominations,  breaks  them  and  gets 
good  money  in  return.  Those  counterfeits  will  fool 
every  one  until  they  get  in  expert  hands  at  the  banks, 
and  even  there  they  may  pass  muster  for  a  while. 
And  in  the  meantime,  Sadie  will  move  on." 

"  But  how  about  Lambert  himself?  " 

"  We  may  as  well  remember,  Wilsnach,  there's  no 
such  man  as  Lambert.  Names  never  count  for  very 
much  in  the  criminal  world.  Our  man's  at  present 
known  as  Hardman,  a  slight  variation  of  his  old  alias 
of  Hartman.  I've  been  watching  Hardman  for  a  day 
and  a  half,  every  move  he  makes  in  the  open.  He's 
posing  as  a  Southerner,  a  horse  breeder  from  Virginia 
with  a  frock-coat  and  a  wide-brimmed  black  hat  — 
you  know  the  get-up!  Three  hours  ago  Morello  met 
him  in  a  downtown  hotel.  An  hour  later  our  Italian 
friend  bought  a  ticket  for  Washington,  and  I'm  having 
him  tailed  to  see  just  what  his  business  might  be  in 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  109 

that  city.  He's  out  of  our  reach  for  to-night.  But 
there  are  other  things  we've  got  to  take  care  of." 

"To-night?" 

"  Yes ;  to-night  —  for  Hardman  is  ready  to  launch 
one  of  the  biggest  tricks  ever  turned  by  a  crook.  I 
almost  respect  that  man ;  he's  Napoleonic  in  some  ways. 
While  Sadie  Wimpel's  been  unloading  on  that  uptown 
women's  poolroom  Hardman's  been  manoeuvring  with 
Doc  Kilvert's  downtown  establishment.  And  this  is 
how  he  did  it:  Kilvert  spotted  that  benevolent-eyed 
old  Southerner  in  the  frock-coat  and  sized  him  up  as 
something  ready  and  waiting  for  a  killing.  Hardman 
even  looked  good  enough  for  a  variation  of  the  old 
green  goods  game,  and  Kilvert  got  busy.  Hardman 
did  some  investigating  on  his  own  hook,  played  coy 
with  Kilvert,  and  then  fell  for  the  plan.  Can  you  beat 
that  for  one  of  life's  little  ironies?  —  a  tin-horn  con- 
man  like  Kilvert  trying  to  sell  a  handful  of  phoney 
money  to  America's  most  accomplished  counterfeiter 
doing  business  on  a  Sub-Treasury  basis !  " 

"But  did  he  fall  for  it?" 

"  To-day,  when  the  time  for  delivery  came,  Hard- 
man turned  on  Kilvert  and  nailed  him  down.  He 
turned  the  trick  so  well  that  he  took  that  piker's 
breath  away.  Then  he  took  Kilvert  up  to  his  room 
and  talked  real  business  with  him." 

"  You  mean  you  think  he  did." 

"  I  know  he  did  —  part  through  Redney  Sissons, 
part  through  our  dictograph,  and  part  through  a 
bell-boy  stool  I'd  planted  there.  But  here's  the  point 
of  the  whole  thing:  As  soon  as  Kilvert  spotted  that 


110  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

counterfeit  paper  of  Hardman's,  he  agreed  that  big 
things  could  be  done  with  it.  Hardman  supplied  him 
with  samples  and  sent  him  over  to  Pip  Tarbeau's  with 
them.  Tarbeau's  called  the  Poolroom  King  of  this 
country.  I  don't  know  everything  that  took  place 
between  Tarbeau  and  Kilvert,  after  that  Poolroom 
King  had  sent  out  for  a  microscope  and  a  second  green- 
goods  expert.  But  that  paper  made  him  ready  to 
deal  with  Hardman,  who  claims  the  money  is  coming 
to  him  in  job  lots  from  Sicily,  through  a  lemon-im- 
porter named  Bastedo.  And  that  deal  means  that 
to-night  Tarbeau  is  going  to  take  over  exactly  one  half 
million  dollars  in  Hardman  bank-notes!  " 

"  I  don't  get  the  point,"  admitted  Wilsnach,  after 
a  moment  of  thought. 

"  It's  this,  Wilsnach ;  one  hundred  thousand  of  that 
half  million  is  going  to  be  placed  in  this  city ;  another 
hundred  thousand  goes  to  Chicago;  another  hundred 
thousand  to  New  Orleans ;  still  another  hundred  thou- 
sand to  San  Francisco ;  and  the  remaining  hundred 
thousand  is  to  be  split  between  Charleston  and  Denver. 
That  money's  going  to  be  held  by  Tarbeau's  operators 
until  a  release  date.  Then  it's  going  to  be  let  loose 
through  the  paying-tellers  of  those  different  pool- 
rooms. In  other  words,  Wilsnach,  a  half  million  dol- 
lars in  bad  money  is  going  to  be  suddenly  exploded  on 
the  country.  They  can  get  it  out  the  same  as  Sadie 
Wimpel  has  been  getting  hers  out.  It  will  pass  muster 
with  those  poolroom  patrons.  It  will  spread  like  a 
sort  of  scarlet-fever  into  commercial  circles.  Then  the 
coup  will  be  repeated,  and  the  second  half  million  will 
make  it  an  epidemic.  By  the  time  some  bank  expert 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  111 

has  spotted  the  stuff  and  the  general  warning  goes 
out,  the  whole  currency  of  the  country  will  be  infected 
with  that  bad  paper,  and  nine  people  out  of  ten  won't 
even  know  whether  it's  bad  or  good !  " 

Wilsnach's  eyes  rested  on  Kestner  as  the  figure  in 
clericals  took  out  a  second  cigar,  lighted  it,  and  then 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"  My  God,  what  a  coup!  "  finally  gasped  the  man 
from  the  Paris  Office. 

"  You  see  what  it  means  —  we've  got  to  jump  in  and 
stop  that  half  million  from  getting  out.  They've  got 
their  own  tailers.  I  made  sure  of  that  yesterday, 
when  I  called  a  messenger  and  gave  him  a  sealed  en- 
velope to  deliver,  for  a  decoy.  That  messenger  was 
waylaid  and  my  message  was  opened  and  read.  That 
shows  you  we've  got  to  do  some  side-stepping.  We've 
got  to  get  that  counterfeit  paper;  and  we've  got  to 
get  Hardman  or  Lambert,  or  whatever  you  want  to 
call  him.  Then  we've  got  to  get  Maura  Lambert  and 
gather  in  the  Wimpel  woman,  and  be  ready  and  wait- 
ing for  Morello  when  he  dodges  back  from  Washing- 
ton!" 

"  But  what's  the  plan?  " 

"  It's  this :  Lambert  will  leave  that  Fifty-first 
Street  house  to-night  at  nine  o'clock  sharp.  He'll 
carry  the  money  in  a  black  club  bag,  and  he'll  be 
alone.  He'll  take  a  taxi-cab  to  Dirlam's  Casino  on 
upper  Broadway,  just  north  of  One  Hundred  and 
First  Street.  And  you  will  be  driving  that  taxi-cab." 

"Will  I?"  inquired  Wilsnach. 

"  That'll  be  all  fixed,  for  unless  we  get  him  on  the 
wing  we  can't  land  him  without  police  help  —  and  this 


112  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

is  our  case."  Kestner  crossed  quickly  to  the  window 
and  glanced  out.  "  Look  at  that  rain.  You'll  be 
rubber-coated  up  to  the  ears  and  he  doesn't  dream  of 
your  chauffeur  days  in  that  old  Poirret  picture-smug- 
gling case.  You'll  drive  him  up  to  Dirlam's  to  meet 
Tarbeau  and  Kilvert  in  a  private  room  there.  He 
may  tell  you  to  strike  up  Broadway  and  stick  to  the 
white  lights.  But  you've  got  to  go  by  way  of  Central 
Park,  and  then  swing  in  to  the  drinking-fountain  be- 
tween the  north  end  of  the  Mall  and  the  West  Seventy- 
second  Street  entrance.  We'll  cover  that  route  in  a 
taxi,  as  soon  as  we  get  out  of  here,  to  make  sure  of 
our  lay-out.  But  to-night,  once  you  get  Lambert  as 
far  as  that  fountain,  you've  got  to  stall  there.  Make 
it  engine-trouble,  or  anything  you  like.  But  hold  him 
there  until  I  get  my  chance  to  get  into  that  taxicab. 
Here's  a  gun  and  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  It's  ten  to  one 
you  won't  need  to  use  either  of  them,  but  we've  got  to 
guard  against  a  tailer  coming  up  and  interfering. 
These  two  extra  pair  of  cuffs  I'll  keep  for  myself,  for 
later  in  the  evening." 

Wilsnach  watched  him  as  he  slipped  the  pair  of 
polished  double  rings  back  in  his  pocket. 

"  Remember,"  repeated  Kestner,  "  that  I'll  attend  to 
Lambert.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  hold  any  one 
off  from  interfering,  and  get  under  way  again,  once  I'm 
sure  of  my  man." 

"  Under  way  for  where  ?  " 

"  Down  the  West  Drive  of  the  Park  to  Columbus 
Circle,  dropping  me  and  the  club  bag  as  soon  as  I  can 
pick  up  another  taxi.  There'll  be  a  federal  tailer  with 
the  Department  pass-word  waiting  at  the  Maine  Monu- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  113 

ment  there.  Then  get  Lambert  down  to  the  Forty- 
seventh  Street  police  station  as  quick  as  you  can. 
The  Lieutenant  there  is  fixed;  he'll  hold  him  on  a 
Sullivan  Law  charge  until  he's  needed." 

"  Then  where  will  you  be  ?  " 

"  I'll  be  back  investigating  that  Fifty-first  Street 
house,  gathering  in  the  girl,  and  getting  hold  of  all  the 
plates  and  paper  I  can  find  there." 

"  How  about  Sadie  Wimpel?  " 

"  Sadie  still  believes  in  clairvoyants  and  is  to  have 
a  reading  at  nine  to-night  with  a  Madame  Musetta, 
who,  oddly  enough,  also  gives  sucker-tips  for  Inky 
Davis  and  his  gang.  At  nine-thirty  a  federal  agent 
will  interrupt  that  reading  and  tell  Sadie  something 
more  definite  about  her  future.  In  the  meantime, 
you've  got  to  get  back  to  that  Lambert  house  with  your 
taxi.  You're  waiting  for  a  fare  there.  But  lie  low, 
and  keep  tab  on  anybody  who  enters  the  house.  If  I 
don't  appear  in  thirty  minutes'  time,  get  inside  as  soon 
as  you  can.  But  give  me  at  least  thirty  minutes." 

Wilsnach  crossed  the  room  and  then  confronted 
Kestner  again. 

"  But  isn't  all  this  taking  chances  ?  "  he  protested. 
"  Why  couldn't  we  sail  up  to  the  Fifty-first  Street 
house  with  a  few  plain  clothes  men,  break  down  the 
door,  and  gather  up  our  people  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  "we  wouldn't  be  doing  the  gather- 
ing. That  would  fall  to  the  City  police.  And  I'm 
not  aching  to  hand  over  a  case  I've  already  travelled 
five  thousand  miles  for.  To  be  candid,  this  case  has 
grown  into  rather  a  personal  matter  with  me." 

"  But  while  we're  landing  Lambert  why  couldn't  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

police  look  after  the  woman  and  pass  her  over  to  the 
federal  officers  later  on?  " 

"  Because  I  want  to  get  that  woman  myself,"  was 
Kestner's  answer. 

"  Why  ?  "  Wilsnach  pointedly  inquired. 

"  As  I've  already  said,  for  personal  reasons,"  was 
Kestner's  retort  as  he  looked  at  his  watch  again  and 
got  up  from  his  chair. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  in  things  like  this  the  per- 
sonal equation  sometimes  comes  rather  expensive?  " 
Wilsnach  asked,  watching  the  other  man  as  he  took 
the  receiver  down  from  the  wall-phone  beside  him. 

Kestner,  with  the  receiver  at  his  ear,  did  not  turn 
about  to  face  Wilsnach  as  he  answered  him. 

"  The  personal  equation  is  the  only  thing  that  makes 
work  like  this  worth  while,"  was  his  quiet-toned  retort. 


AT  precisely  nine  o'clock  a  tall  and  benignant  look- 
ing figure,  made  more  stately  by  the  loose  folds  of  a 
black  raincoat,  stepped  from  a  door  in  Fifty-first 
Street,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
peered  carefully  eastward  and  then  as  carefully  west- 
ward. On  his  head  he  wore  a  broad-brimmed  black 
hat  and  in  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  black  club  bag. 

He  stepped  quickly  down  to  the  street,  where  a  taxi- 
cab  stood  waiting.  He  crossed  to  the  curb,  stooping 
against  the  heavy  slant  of  rain  that  swept  down  from 
the  east.  The  taxi-driver,  huddled  back  out  of  the 
drip  from  his  cab-hood,  nodded  a  head  half -buried  in  a 
water-proof  helmet,  blithely  said  "  Yep  "  to  a  second 
question  from  the  new-comer,  and  speeded  up  his 
engine. 

The  man  with  the  club  bag  again  looked  up  and 
down  the  street,  directed  the  driver  to  hurry  him  to 
Dirlam's  Casino  by  way  of  Fifty-ninth  Street  and 
Broadway,  and  then  stepped  into  the  cab  and  slammed 
the  door  after  him. 

It  was  an  inclement  night  for  an  excursion  in  even  a 
closed  carriage.  The  cross-street  stood  as  empty  as  a 
drained  flume-way,  the  pooled  asphalt  throwing  up 
scattered  reflections  of  the  lonely  city  lamps.  The 
floor  of  Fifth  Avenue,  washed  as  clean  as  a  ballroom 

and  shimmering  like  a  mirror,  undulated  mistily  north- 

115 


116  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

ward.  It  was  a  canyon  of  silence  along  which  the 
only  sound  was  the  periodic  clatter  of  non-skid  chains 
and  the  throb  of  an  occasional  motor-engine.  New 
York  stood  like  a  city  suddenly  depopulated  by  some 
vast  cataclysm. 

The  benignant  looking  Southerner  in  the  black  rain- 
coat pounded  sharply  on  the  cab-front  when  his  driver, 
apparently  forgetful  of  instructions,  jolted  over  the 
Fifty-ninth  Street  car-tracks  and  swerved  to  the  right 
through  the  Park  entrance  beside  the  Sherman  Statue. 

"  I  said  by  way  of  Broadway,"  he  peremptorily 
called  out. 

But  the  speeding  car  kept  on  its  way,  the  driver  ap- 
parently oblivious  of  the  fact  that  he  was  being  ad- 
dressed. 

His  angry  fare  flung  open  the  cab  door,  thrust  one. 
foot  out  on  the  running  board,  and  for  a  second  time 
shouted  for  his  driver  to  swing  about. 

But  still  the  car  continued  on  its  way. 

The  benignant  looking  Southerner  thereupon 
reached  about  with  one  long  arm  and  pounded  on  the 
body  of  that  insensate  driver.  There  was  nothing  for 
that  driver  to  do  but  slow  down,  stare  stupidly  about 
and  demand  what  was  wrong.  But  the  car  still  crept 
slowly  northward. 

"  Where  are  you  goin',  anyway  ?  "  demanded  the 
driver,  making  note  of  the  fact  that  they  had  already 
reached  the  lower  end  of  the  Mall. 

"  You  know  where  I  am  going  and  you  know  the  way 
I  told  you  to  go,"  proclaimed  the  man  in  the  black 
rain-coat. 

"  What  fell's  the  use  of  circlin'  the  Island  to  get  to 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  117 

Dirlam's  ?  "  he  expostulated.  "  I'm  takin'  you  the 
shortest  way  up,  ain't  I  ?  ' 

"  Get  out  of  this  Park,"  shouted  back  his  fare  with 
an  unreasonable  show  of  anger.  But  the  car  was  still 
crawling  forward. 

"  Then  I'll  cut  out  through  the  Seventy-second 
Street  gate,"  announced  the  man  on  the  driving-seat 
as  he  speeded  up  again.  He  had  the  inward  satisfac- 
tion of  hearing  the  taxi-door  slam  shut.  He  took  a 
turn  at  high  speed  to  the  west,  tried  to  correct  what 
appeared  a  mistake,  turned  again,  skidded,  and  came 
up  with  a  bump  against  the  stone  base  of  a  large  drink- 
ing-fountain. 

The  cab-door  opened  again  as  the  driver  emerged 
from  under  his  water-proof  apron.  He  found  himself 
assailed  by  an  oath  of  anger  which  seemed  quite  out  of 
keeping  with  that  benignant  looking  figure  in  black. 

"What  is  it  this  time?" 

"  Engine's  gone  dead,"  was  the  gloomy  response. 
He  walked  to  the  front  of  the  car  and  began  to  crank. 

Then  he  stood  up,  with  a  gesture  of  helplessness, 
staring  about  as  though  looking  for  some  quarter 
from  which  help  might  miraculously  come.  But  they 
seemed  alone  in  a  world  of  driving  rain. 

Then  the  driver  stepped  about  to  the  side  of  the  car, 
placing  one  hand  against  the  partly  opened  door,  for 
he  saw  that  his  fare  had  taken  up  the  black  bag  and 
was  about  to  step  out. 

"  You  know  anything  about  engines  ?  "  he  demanded, 
blocking  the  other's  way.  He  made  a  pretence  of 
doing  this  unconsciously.  But  the  other  man  had 
grown  suddenly  suspicious. 


118  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  man  in  the  car,  twisting 
angrily  about  so  that  he  faced  the  driver  through  the 
cab-door,  *'  if  you  try  any  — " 

That  was  as  far  as  the  tall  Southerner  got.  For 
out  of  the  dripping  shrubbery  a  third  figure  had 
emerged,  had  stepped  up  to  the  running  board,  and 
had  opened  the  opposite  door  of  the  cab.  And  the 
next  moment  a  crooked  arm  was  thrown  tightly  about 
Hardman's  neck  and  the  cab  was  thumping  and  rock- 
ing with  the  tumult  of  the  sudden  struggle. 

The  driver  did  not  even  wait  to  determine  the  out- 
come of  that  encounter.  He  ran  to  the  front  of  his 
car,  cranked  his  engine,  and  climbed  into  his  seat.  He 
could  still  feel  the  cab  rock  and  jolt  with  the  fury  of 
the  struggle  going  on  inside.  From  that  narrow  little 
arena  he  could  hear  short  gasps  and  grunts  which 
warned  him  that  the  fight  was  not  as  one-sided  as  it 
had  promised  to  be.  And  by  the  light  of  a  nearby 
Park  lamp  Wilshach  could  see  slowly  approaching 
them  the  great  waterproofed  figure  of  a  policeman. 
He  knew  that  this  officer's  curiosity  had  been  aroused. 
So  he  dropped  his  revolver  back  in  his  pocket  and 
speeded  up  his  engine,  knowing  the  racing  machinery 
would  serve  as  a  muffler  to  the  more  dangerous  sounds 
from  within  the  cab. 

Then  Wilsnach's  heart  came  up  in  his  throat,  for 
above  the  other  noises  rang  out  the  quick  report  of  a 
pistol-shot.  At  the  same  time  a  bullet  tore  its  way 
out  through  the  roof  of  the  cab-hood.  Then  came  a 
moment  of  more  frenzied  agitation  and  threshing 
about,  and  then  comparative  silence. 

Wilsnach,   pedalling   his    accelerator,   still   let   his 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  119 

motor  flutter,  uncertain  as  to  how  to  act.  He  dare 
not  swing  about  to  investigate,  for  the  approaching 
officer  was  already  within  forty  feet  of  him,  and  he 
felt  the  possible  need  of  that  officer  if  things  had  al- 
ready gone  against  them. 

Then  the  next  moment  his  ear  caught  the  rattle  of 
the  dropped  door-glass.  At  the  same  time  that  the 
huge-bodied  officer  in  the  dripping  raincoat  drew  up 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fountain  Kestner's  head  ap- 
peared through  the  open  window.  Between  his  lips  he 
held  a  freshly  lighted  cigar  —  which  served  to  explain 
the  small  cloud  of  smoke  drifting  thinly  out  from  under 
the  cab-hood. 

"  Driver,  what  the  devil's  the  matter  with  that 
engine  of  yours  ?  "  promptly  demanded  the  man  with 
the  cigar. 

"  She's  all  right  now  —  she  was  only  back  firm' 
that  time,"  cheerily  announced  Wilsnach  as  he  let  in 
his  clutch  and  got  under  way. 

The  waterproofed  officer  stood  watching  them.  He 
stood  there  immobile,  without  speaking,  the  car-lamps 
refracting  from  his  wet  oil-skins  in  a  hundred  scatter- 
ing high-lights.  He  stood  there,  ominous,  colossal, 
heavily  impassive,  as  the  taxicab  made  its  turn  and 
swung  so  close  to  him  that  he  could  have  reached  out 
and  touched  its  hood. 

Wilsnach  held  his  breath,  wondering  if  he  was  to  be 
stopped  or  not,  knowing  better  than  to  turn  and  look 
back.  Then  he  breathed  again,  for  they  had  already 
taken  the  turn  to  the  west  and  no  word  had  been 
spoken. 

It  was  Kestner's  voice  that  came  to  him,  calm,  and 


120  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

reassuring,  through  the  open  cab-door  as  they  swung 
down  into  the  West  Drive. 

"  I  had  to  knock  him  out  with  the  butt  of  his  gun. 
Slow  down  a  little  until  I  go  through  his  pockets." 

Wilsnach  crawled  forward  until  Kestner  suddenly 
commanded  him  to  stop. 

"  There's  an  empty  taxi.  I'll  catch  that,  and  cut 
across  to  the  Avenue."  He  was  out  on  the  running- 
board  by  this  time,  with  the  black  bag  in  his  hand, 
hailing  the  passing  taxicab.  Then  he  turned  back  to 
Wilsnach.  "  Your  man's  still  down  and  out  in  there. 
Pick  up  that  federal  tailer  at  the  Circle  and  get  to  the 
Forty-seventh  Street  station  as  fast  as  you  can. 
Then  make  for  the  Lambert  house.  We're  behind 
time,  and  this  is  just  the  beginning  of  our  night's 
work!" 


VI 

IT  was  twelve  minutes  later  that  Kestner  stepped 
from  his  taxi-cab  in  front  of  the  Union  Club,  paid  his 
driver,  and  effected  a  careful  scrutiny  of  Fifty-first 
Street  before  passing  in  through  the  ponderous  doors 
of  the  Club  itself. 

His  visit  within  those  doors,  however,  was  a  brief 
one.  Having  made  reasonably  sure  that  he  was  not 
shadowed,  he  crossed  Fifth  Avenue  and  made  his  way 
westward  along  Fifty-first  Street,  facing  the  steady 
downpour  which  still  deluged  the  city. 

Then  he  went  quietly  up  a  wide  flight  of  brownstone 
house-steps,  as  quietly  inserting  in  the  door  lock  one 
of  the  keys  which  he  had  taken  from  Lambert's  pocket. 

He  opened  the  door  without  appreciable  sound, 
sidling  quickly  in  and  as  quickly  closing  the  heavy 
door  behind  him. 

Then  he  stood  motionless  in  the  unlighted  entrance 
hall,  with  every  sense  alert,  silently  appraising  the 
situation  which  lay  before  him. 

He  knew  that  he  was  on  delicate  ground,  with  a 
delicate  task  ahead  of  him.  And  he  did  not  care  to 
make  a  mis-step. 

He  stood  there  with  ears  strained,  peering  through 
the  unbroken  gloom.  At  one  moment  he  thought  he 
heard  a  sound  somewhere  in  the  undecipherable  depths 

of  the  house.     But  he  could  not  be  sure  of  this.     Yet 

121 


122  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

he  waited  again,  remembering  that  time  was  a  matter 
of  importance  to  him.  And  as  he  stood  there  he  was 
oppressed  by  the  consciousness  that  his  method  was 
as  odious  as  his  mission.  But  he  knew  that  now  there 
could  be  neither  hesitation  nor  compromise.  He  was 
in  the  fight,  and  it  had  to  be  fought  out. 

His  first  task,  once  he  felt  the  way  was  clear,  was  to 
get  rid  of  his  dripping  raincoat  and  watersoaked  hat. 
These  he  took  off.  Then  groping  about  for  the  club 
bag  which  he  had  carried  in  with  him,  he  moved  silently 
forward,  feeling  his  way  as  he  went.  The  rubbers 
which  he  wore  on  his  feet,  he  knew,  would  make  his 
advance  a  noiseless  one. 

He  found  a  door  to  the  left,  standing  partly  open, 
and  groped  his  way  through  it,  disturbed  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  leaving  a  trail  of  water-drops  after  him 
as  he  moved.  Even  in  this  inner  room  he  did  not  risk 
a  light.  But  when  his  groping  fingers  came  in  contact 
with  what  proved  to  be  a  bevel-fronted  cabinet  on 
heavily  carved  legs,  he  pushed  hat,  coat,  and  club  bag 
well  in  under  this  piece  of  furniture.  Then  he  turned 
about  and  made  his  way  deeper  into  the  house. 

So  far,  he  felt,  luck  had  been  with  him.  And  luck 
was  no  insignificant  feature  in  work  such  as  his,  where 
a  turn  of  the  hand  brought  a  contingency  that  had  not 
been  counted  on  or  a  peril  that  had  been  unappre- 
hended.  Yet  he  had  laid  his  plans  carefully,  and  so 
far  nothing  had  gone  amiss. 

He  drew  up,  suddenly,  subconsciously  warned  of  a 
condition  that  was  not  normal,  vaguely  disconcerted 
by  something  which  for  a  moment  he  could  not  define. 

Then  the  truth  of  the  matter  came  home  to  him. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

He  could  feel  a  faint  current  of  cooler  air  blowing 
against  his  face.  And  as  he  crept  on,  from  somewhere 
in  front  of  him,  he  could  hear  the  steady  patter  of 
falling  raindrops. 

That  meant,  he  felt,  that  a  door  or  window  was 
open  at  the  back  of  the  house.  And  it  was  a  conclu- 
sion which  did  not  add  to  his  sense  of  comfort.  But  he 
could  not  afford  to  leave  it  unexplained. 

He  groped  his  way  on,  veering  through  an  open  door 
and  threading  his  way  about  furniture,  until  he  had 
traversed  the  full  length  of  the  house.  And  in  front 
of  him,  as  he  had  feared,  he  found  an  open  window  and 
the  rain  blowing  against  a  gently-flapping  curtain- 
end. 

He  studiously  explored  the  sash  of  this  window.  A 
little  tingle  of  apprehension  went  through  him  as  he 
did  so,  for  his  inquisitively  caressing  fingers  told  him 
how  a  segment,  large  enough  to  admit  a  man's  hand, 
had  been  cut  out  of  an  inner  window  pane  corner.  It 
had  obviously  been  scratched  with  a  diamond  chip, 
tapped  sharply  until  the  crack  followed  the  line  of  the 
scratch,  and  then  lifted  away  with  a  suction-cap.  A 
hand  had  been  reached  in  and  unlocked  the  window. 
And  it  was  ten  to  one  that  the  owner  of  that  hand  was 
still  in  the  house  where  Kestner  stood.  It  was  the 
practised  work  of  the  practised  house-breaker  and 
porch-climber,  and  Kestner  knew  just  what  to  expect 
from  such  gentry. 

His  first  move  was  to  lift  his  revolver  from  its  none 
too  convenient  hip-pocket  and  drop  it  into  the  right- 
hand  pocket  of  his  coat.  Then  he  stood  listening 
again,  straining  his  eyes  through  the  darkness,  dis- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERU, 

turbed  by  the  thought  that  plans  so  carefully  laid 
could  be  so  gratuitously  disrupted  by  a  factor  on 
which  he  had  failed  to  count. 

He  moved  towards  the  front  of  the  house  again, 
following  the  wall  as  he  went,  with  his  right  hand  close 
to  his  side,  ready  for  action.  He  paused  when  he 
reached  the  hall,  pondering  what  his  next  step  should 
be. 

Then  he  crouched  back,  with  every  muscle  tense,  for 
there  came  to  his  ear  the  sudden  and  distinct  sound  of  a 
key  being  fitted  into  the  door  that  opened  from  the 
street. 

He  had  no  time  to  turn  and  find  a  hiding  place. 
The  door  had  already  opened  and  a  figure  was  stepping 
in.  Then  the  door  was  heard  to  close  again,  shutting 
out  the  sound  of  the  beating  rain. 

As  Kestner  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall  and  his 
revolver  in  his  hand,  he  could  detect  a  newer  small 
odour,  the  odour  of  rainsoaked  garments  on  a  warm 
body.  He  knew  that  the  man  was  standing  there,  not 
five  paces  from  him,  listening  as  intently  as  he  him- 
self was  listening.  He  could  hear  the  faint  drip  of 
the  water  from  the  wet  coat.  He  could  even  catch  the 
sound  of  the  other's  breathing.  The  next  moment, 
too,  he  could  hear  the  subdued  movement  of  feet  as 
that  newcomer  advanced  deeper  into  the  house.  He 
could  hear  a  sleeve-button  as  it  tapped  against  the 
newel-post  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  while  a  hand 
groped  through  the  darkness  for  the  banister. 

Kestner  could  have  reached  out  and  touched  the 
hesitating  figure  as  it  stood  there.  But  he  crouched 
back,  ready  for  the  worst,  hoping  against  hope  that 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  125; 

the  light  would  not  be  switched  on.  The  next  sound 
that  came  to  him  was  a  sigh,  and  then  the  faint  stir 
and  rustle  of  cloth.  Kestner  knew  the  man  was  taking 
off  his  wet  overcoat  and  hanging  it  across  the  banister- 
rail.  On  it,  he  knew,  that  the  man  was  next  balancing 
his  rainsoaked  hat.  Then  the  steps  went  slowly  and 
stealthily  up  the  stairway. 

Kestner  waited  until  they  took  the  turn  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs.  Then  he  reached  over  and  examined  the 
wet  hat,  gauging  its  dimensions  with  his  distended 
fingers,  sniffing  at  it  as  a  hound  might.  Then  he  felt 
quickly  through  the  dripping  raincoat,  attempting  to 
verify  the  disquieting  suspicion  that  the  newcomer  was 
indeed  Morello.  But  the  overcoat  held  nothing  to 
confirm  this  fear. 

Kestner  no  longer  hesitated.  He  felt  his  way  about 
the  newel-post,  creeping  up  the  stairs  as  quietly  as 
the  man  who  had  preceded  him.  Looking  up,  at  the 
first  turn,  he  was  able  to  make  out  a  faint  glimmer  of 
light  falling  across  the  well  of  the  stairway  on  the 
floor  stiU  one  flight  above  him.  So  he  crept  on,  his 
rubber-soled  feet  deadening  the  sound  of  his  steps. 

He  drew  up,  suddenly,  as  his  head  reached  the  level 
of  this  second  floor,  for  blocked  out  against  the  oblong 
of  light  in  a  partly  opened  door  he  could  see  the  figure 
of  the  newcomer.  And  it  took  no  second  glance  to  tell 
him  that  it  was  indeed  Morello  —  Morello  who  by  that 
hour  should  have  been  well  on  his  way  to  Washington. 

Something  suspended  and  guarded  in  the  pose  of 
that  figure  told  Kestner  that  within  the  lighted  room 
was  a  third  person,  and  that  the  movements  of  this 
third  person  were  being  watched  by  Morello.  And 


126  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Kestner  felt  reasonably  sure  that  this  third  person 
could  be  no  one  but  Maura  Lambert. 

He  had  scarcely  time  to  digest  this  discovery  before 
he  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  Morello  himself  had 
suddenly  and  noiselessly  sidled  in  through  the  partly 
opened  door.  Kestner  waited,  breathless,  for  some 
cry  of  alarm  at  that  sudden  invasion,  or  for  at  least 
the  quick  give  and  take  of  angry  voices.  But  no  sound 
came  to  him. 

He  waited  for  a  moment  or  two  and  then  the  sus- 
pense became  more  than  he  cared  to  endure.  He  crept 
up  the  rest  of  the  stairway  and  circled  about  to  the 
partly  opened  door.  Then  he  stooped  forward  and 
peered  into  the  room. 

In  front  of  a  dressing-table  surmounted  by  a  three- 
panelled  mirror  he  could  plainly  see  Maura  Lambert. 
She  was  seated  there  in  the  full  light  of  the  two  electric- 
globes  on  either  side  of  her  mirror.  She  wore  a  loose- 
sleeved  dressing-gown  of  rose-coloured  silk,  open  at  the 
throat.  Her  hair  was  down,  and  in  her  right  hand  she 
held  a  silver-backed  brush.  She  was  not,  at  the  mo- 
ment, making  use  of  this  brush.  She  was  leaning  for- 
ward a  little,  staring  absently  into  the  middle  panel  of 
her  looking-glass. 

Kestner  could  see  both  the  clear-cut  profile  and  the 
reflected  image  of  her  in  the  mirror.  He  could  see  the 
ivory  whiteness  of  the  rounded  throat,  the  shimmer  of 
the  heavy  cascade  of  loosened  hair,  the  soft  line  of  one 
relaxed  arm,  almost  white  against  the  rose-colour  of 
her  gown.  And  more  than  ever  before  a  wayward  im- 
pression of  her  sheer  physical  beauty  swept  over  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  her  in  a  moment 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

of  impassivity,  quite  off  her  guard,  with  that  touch  of 
wistfulness  which  comes  to  humanity  when  alone  with 
its  own  thoughts.  He  could  detect  a  look  of  vague 
trouble  about  the  idly  staring  eyes,  a  sense  of  want 
about  the  slightly  parted  lips,  a  listlessness  about  the 
droop  of  the  forward-bent  body  hooded  by  its  cascade 
of  dull  chestnut. 

But  Kestner  gave  little  thought  to  this.  For  he  had 
made  the  further  discovery  that  Morello  himself  stood 
in  that  room,  within  six  feet  of  the  door.  And  the  man 
peering  through  this  door  realised  why  Morello's  ad- 
vent had  as  yet  remained  undiscovered  by  the  girl  in 
front  of  the  mirror.  A  few  steps  inside  the  door  stood 
a  panel-screen  of  rose  and  gold,  and  behind  this  screen 
Morello  still  crouched. 

There  seemed  something  intent  and  animal-like  in  his 
pose,  and  at  the  same  time  something  childlike  and 
ludicrous.  Kestner  could  not  analyse  this  mixed  im- 
pression. He  had  scarcely  time  to  make  note  of  it, 
for  at  that  moment  he  heard  a  sudden  gasp  from  the 
woman  in  front  of  the  mirror,  and  he  knew  she  must 
have  discovered  she  was  being  watched. 


THE  rose-clad  woman  in  front  of  the  dressing-table 
«lid  not  scream  out.  She  did  not  even  swing  about  in 
lier  fragile-looking  chair  of  cream  and  gold.  She  sat, 
leaning  a  little  forward,  staring  past  her  own  image  in 
the  mirror. 

Her  face  had  lost  the  last  of  its  colour.  Her  arms, 
Xestner  could  now  see,  were  stippled  with  a  faint  mot- 
tling of  colour.  The  droop  of  the  torso  was  eloquent 
af  suddenly  diverted  attention.  It  was  plain  that  she 
i*ad  caught  sight  of  the  head  about  the  screen-top. 
Then  her  prepossession  seemed  to  return  to  her,  for 
ahe  suddenly  rose  from  her  chair  and  faced  the  other 
aide  of  the  room. 

It  was  at  the  same  moment  that  Morello,  nettled  by 
the  discovery  of  his  spying  attitude,  stepped  into  the 
open.  The  two  strangely  divergent  figures  stood  con- 
fronting each  other  for  several  seconds  of  unbroken 
silence.  Then  the  woman  spoke. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  she  demanded,  her 
voice  clear  and  reed-like  but  a  little  tense  with  its  angry 
«hallenge. 

u  I  came  back  1 "  Morello  spoke  quietly,  almost 
faunbly. 

"Why?" 

**  I  came  back,"  he  repeated,  "  -for  yaw!  " 

He  held  out  his  two  hands  as  he  spoke,  with  a  gesture 
128 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  129 

that  was  characteristically  Latin,  as  exotic  as  the 
intonation  of  the  English  which  he  spoke  almost  with- 
out accent.  But  Kestner  noticed  that  the  outstretched 
hands  were  shaking  a  little. 

"  Tony,"  demanded  the  woman  again,  more  sharply 
this  time,  "  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

He  took  a  step  nearer  to  her  before  he  spoke  again* 
Kestner  could  detect  a  growing  tenseness  in  that 
strange  and  swarthy  figure.  He  could  see  an  animal- 
like  radiance  in  the  seal-brown  eyes.  Malignancy  was 
not  the  note  of  that  passionate  figure.  It  seemed  more 
one  of  tragic  misery. 

"  I  can  not  wait  —  I  can  not !  "  Morello  half -whis- 
pered, closing  the  fingers  of  his  outstretched  hands  and 
then  drawing  his  arms  quickly  back  until  the  closed 
fists  smote  on  his  breast.  It  was  an  eloquent  gesture ; 
unconsciously  it  made  the  watching  Kestner  think  of  a 
grand-opera  hero :  its  one  redemption  was  its  sincerity. 

"  You  were  to  meet  Fonaro  in  Washington,"  the 
woman  said  with  a  sharp  note  of  reproof. 

"  No,  that  was  useless.  I  have  been  shadowed.  I 
was  followed.  I  saw  it  was  no  good.  So  I  turned 
back." 

She  stood  studying  him. 

"  Then  you  were  followed  here,"  she  cried. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"That  was  impossible,"  he  replied,  with  his  eyes 
always  fixed  on  her  face. 

"  Nothing  is  impossible,  with  things  as  they  are ! " 
she  quickly  warned  him. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  repeated. 

"  And  you  knew  I  was  alone  ?  " 


130  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  with  the  imploring  hands  again 
thrust  out  towards  her.  "  I  knew,  and  I  came." 

She  was  breathing  more  quickly  by  this  time  and  a 
touch  of  colour  had  come  to  either  cheek. 

"  Then  you  must  go !  "  was  her  summary  command. 

The  Neapolitan  stood  with  his  head  bowed.  "  I  can 
not,"  he  said  with  almost  a  moan. 

Maura  Lambert  took  a  step  nearer  him  and  was 
about  to  speak  when  the  telephone-bell  on  the  dressing- 
table  shrilled  out  a  sudden  alarm.  She  crossed  to  the 
table  and  took  up  the  receiver,  cupping  the  bell  with 
her  hand.  She  sat  listening,  poured  a  quick  torrent  of 
French  into  the  'phone  and  then  sat  listening  again, 
interrupting  with  an  intent  monosyllable  or  two. 
Then  she  hung  up  the  receiver  and  swung  about  on 
Morello. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  sharply.  "  There's  been  trouble. 
Father  was  shadowed  and  held  up  in  Central  Park. 
They  struck  him  and  took  everything.  He  pretended 
to  be  unconscious  until  the  chance  came,  then  he 
slipped  out  of  the  cab  and  got  away  in  the  Park. 
He's  just  sent  word  to  Cherry  and  Fontana!  " 

She  pressed  her  hands  against  her  side  with  a  gesture 
of  despair,  oblivious  for  the  moment  of  Morello  and 
his  presence.  "  It's  the  same  thing  over  again  —  the 
same  thing  over !  " 

"  It  will  always  be  the  same  thing  over,  now," 
Morello  reminded  her. 

"  We  can't  stay  here,"  she  said,  still  oblivious  of 
him,  still  unconscious  of  the  luminous  seal-brown  eyes 
watching  her. 

"  You  will  have  to  come  with  me,"  he  said. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  131 

"  With  you  ?  "  she  demanded,  staring  at  him  witK 
slowly  awakening  eyes.  "  And  where  will  I  go  with 
you?" 

"  I  do  not  care  —  so  long  as  you  come,"  was  his 
passionate  declaration. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  there  was  to  be  no  more  of  this  ?  " 
she  demanded,  fixing  him  with  a  gaze  as  cold  as  glacial 
ice.  But  he  seemed  conscious  of  only  one  compulsion, 
swept  by  only  one  emotion. 

"  /  love  you!  "  he  suddenly  cried  out,  the  words  seem- 
ing to  erupt  from  a  volcano  that  could  not  be  con- 
trolled. 

It  startled  Kestner  a  little  to  see  that  the  tears  were 
streaming  down  the  Neapolitan's  face,  that  his  body 
was  shaking  with  the  passion  that  swept  it. 

Yet  the  girl  turned  studiously  about  and  placed  the 
silver-backed  hair-brush  on  her  dressing  table.  Then 
she  stepped  quietly  over  to  where  he  stood,  facing  him 
fearlessly,  with  a  brow  still  slightly  wrinkled  in 
thought.  She  opened  her  lips  to  speak.  But  Morello 
drowned  her  first  words  in  his  suddenly  repeated  cry 
of  **  /  love  you!  "  He  lifted  his  two  hands  quaveringly, 
one  on  each  side  of  her  uncovered  arms.  They  came 
together  and  touched  the  bare  flesh.  Then  with  a  sob 
he  seized  her. 

His  arms  went  about  her  slender  body,  crushing  it 
and  drawing  it  in  against  his  own.  He  held  her, 
writhing  and  twisting,  until  there  seemed  something 
antediluvial  and  barbaric  in  their  struggles,  in  the 
woman's  cloud  of  tangled  and  tossing  hair,  in  her 
gasping  cry  that  was  shut  off  by  Morello's  mouth 
closing  over  her  own. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Then  Kestner  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  felt 
that  his  moment  had  come,  and  he  made  ready  for  it. 

Yet  he  did  not  spring  into  the  room.  Every  tense 
chord  suddenly  relaxed,  for  quick  as  thought  the  scene 
had  taken  on  a  new  and  quite  unexpected  aspect.  The 
door  just  beyond  the  screen  of  rose  and  gold  had 
quickly  opened  and  a  third  figure  had  suddenly  crossed 
the  room.  It  at  once  reminded  Kestner  of  the  opened 
back  window  belowstairs,  for  in  one  hand  this  figure 
held  a  burglar's  billy.  One  glance  at  that  roughly 
clad  interloper,  with  his  narrow  and  rat-like  brow,  his 
weak  and  vicious  mouth,  told  only  too  plainly  what  was 
coming. 

There  was  a  cat-like  quickness  in  his  movement  as 
he  struck  at  Morello.  Well  directed  as  that  blow  was, 
the  Neapolitan  did  not  go  down.  He  staggered,  threw 
his  arms  up,  and  swung  about.  He  was  groping  for 
his  revolver  when  the  second  blow  came.  Then  the 
man  with  the  billy,  comprehending  the  movement, 
clinched,  and  fought  with  the  fury  of  a  wharf-rat. 
The  screen  of  rose  and  gold  went  down  in  the  struggle ; 
a  chair  was  overturned.  Instinctively  Morello  gave  way 
before  that  shower  of  blows.  The  two  had  fought 
their  way  to  the  doorway  before  Kestner  realised  the 
necessity  of  slipping  back  into  the  darkness.  Then 
came  another  blow,  at  the  base  of  the  skull,  and 
Morello  went  down  like  a  stockyard  steer,  without  a 
aound. 

The  rat-browed  victor  dropped  on  one  knee  beside 
1dm.  A  second  later  he  had  possession  of  the  revolver. 
With  an  equally  quick  movement  or  two  he  had  taken 
money  there  was  in  the  unconscious  man's 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

pockets.  Then  he  turned  the  vanquished  man  over8 
pushing  him  towards  the  head  of  the  stairs.  One  final 
shove,  as  the  inert  figure  balanced  there,  sent  Morell* 
rolling  down  the  wide  stairway-.  A  moment  later  th* 
conqueror  had  darted  back  into  the  room. 

"  Git  into  that  corner  1 "  Kestner  could  hear  him 
cry  out.  The  cry  brought  Kestner  back  to  the  door- 
way, with  his  own  revolver  in  his  hand. 

"  Git  back  there,  quick ! "  barked  the  housebreaker, 
accentuating  the  command  with  an  oath.  Then  l«s 
stood,  squint-eyed  in  front  of  her,  staring  at  the 
white  column  of  her  throat,  at  the  torn  front  of  her 
dressing-gown,  at  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosonv 

"  No  wonder  th'  guinney  fell  f'r  yuh,"  he  said  witfc 
a  contemplative  bark  of  a  laugh. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  she  asked,  pure  terror  in  her 
voice  by  this  time. 

"  Wat  do  I  want  ?  "  repeated  the  man  with  the  re- 
volver. "  First  t'ing  I  want  some  o'  the  money  that's 
rottin'  round  this  house.  Then  I  want  " —  He  broke 
off  with  a  raucous  and  mirthless  cackle  of  a  laugh. 

"  There's  no  money  here." 

"  No  money?  "  he  mocked.  "  Not  a  cent  t'  play  th" 
ponies  wit',  day  after  day,  I  s'pose?  Honey-bird,  I 
got  me  tip  straight,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  git  me  haul." 

She  struggled  to  achieve  an  appearance  of  calmness. 
But  her  hand  was  shaking  as  she  looked  at  the  watch 
hanging  by  its  slender  gold  chain  from  her  neck. 
"  Unless  you  get  that  haul  in  five  minutes  there  will  be 
other  people  in  this  house ! " 

The  man's  response  to  that  threat  was  both  quick 
and  decisive. 


134  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Gi'  me  that  timepiece !  " 

She  hesitated,  with  her  eyes  meeting  his.  He  swung 
out  a  hand,  caught  the  watch,  and  with  a  quick  jerk 
broke  the  chain  from  her  neck. 

"  Now  the  junk  out  o'  them  drawers !  "  he  com- 
manded. 

She  turned  to  the  dressing-table,  the  man  with  the 
revolver  stepping  after  her.  He  stood  directly  behind 
her,  with  his  head  thrust  forward  like  the  head  of  a 
fighting-cock,  following  every  move  she  made. 

Kestner  could  wait  no  longer.  He  had  suffered  too 
much  through  the  interference  of  others ;  and  time,  he 
knew,  was  terribly  precious. 

His  rubbers  made  his  footsteps  noiseless  as  he  glided 
into  the  room.  When  he  sprang  for  the  man  with  the 
revolver  it  was  with  a  down-sweep  of  two  outstretched 
arms. 

That  impact,  from  a  quarter  so  unexpected,  not  only 
sent  the  man  staggering  forward,  but  struck  the  poised 
right  arm  with  the  revolver  sharply  floorward,  the 
sudden  finger  pressure  on  the  trigger  exploding  one 
chamber  as  they  fell.  But  Ke*stner's  grip  on  the  other 
man  was  well  placed  and  that  other  man's  arms  were 
pinioned  close  to  his  side  as  the  two  of  them  went  down. 

The  woman  swung  about  with  a  sound,  half-gasp 
and  half-scream,  at  the  struggle  so  close  to  her.  That 
struggle  was  still  going  on  as  she  suddenly  ran  for- 
ward, stooped  down,  and  wrenched  the  firearm  from 
the  clutch  of  the  overtaxed  burglar.  Then  she  backed 
away,  conscious  that  she  was  mistress  of  the  situation. 

Kestner  heard  her  sharp  call  of  command  to  him. 
But  he  ignored  it,  for  his  fighting  blood  was  up  and  his 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  135 

rat-browed  adversary  had  betrayed  a  desire  to  close 
his  teeth  on  Kestner's  thumb. 

The  woman  repeated  the  command,  more  sharply, 
but  still  the  fight  went  on.  When  it  was  over  and 
Kestner  stooped,  panting,  with  one  knee  on  the  other 
man's  chest,  that  other  man  showed  a  sadly  battered 
face  and  a  much  subdued  spirit.  On  the  whole,  Kest- 
ner grimly  remembered,  it  had  been  an  evening  of  un- 
commonly active  pugilism. 

"  Stand  up,"  Maura  Lambert  was  commanding 
him  as  he  stopped  to  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  eyes. 
Her  face  disturbed  him.  Never  before  had  he  seen  it 
wear  a  look  so  steely.  There  was  something  ominous 
in  her  very  calmness. 

"  Stand  up ! "  she  repeated  with  the  revolver  cover- 
ing him. 

Kestner  slowly  and  reluctantly  rose  to  his  feet.  As 
the  other  man  made  an  effort  to  raise  himself  the 
woman  stepped  back  quickly.  "  Don't  move,"  she 
called  out  to  this  other  man,  her  voice  now  breaking 
shrill  with  tension,  "  or  I'll  kill  yowl "  Then  she 
turned  back  to  Kestner. 

"  You  have  a  revolver,"  she  said.     "  Where  is  it  ?  " 

Kestner  did  not  answer  her,  for  at  that  moment  still 
another  figure  stepped  into  the  room.  It  was  the  fig- 
ure of  a  young  woman  in  a  sodden-plumed  hat  and 
a  dripping  cravenette  coat.  And  it  took  only  a  glance 
at  that  pert  young  face  to  see  that  the  newcomer  was 
Sadie  Wimpel. 

"  Hully  gee,"  was  her  slightly  breathless  cry  as  her 
gaze  swept  the  room,  "  this  sure  looks  like  somethin' 
doin'  here  too !  " 


136  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Cherry,  take  that  man's  revolver,"  commanded 
Maura  Lambert,  "  and  then  get  what  this  other  man 
has  taken ! " 

"  Sure,"  answered  the  girl.  She  stepped  over  to 
Kestner  and  proceeded  to  "  frisk  "  him.  The  other 
woman  commanded  the  burglar  to  get  to  his  feet. 

"  Pipe  the  cop !  "  exclaimed  Cherry  as  she  lifted  the 
two  pairs  of  polished  metal  handcuffs  from  Kestner's 
pocket.  Then  she  glanced  disdainfully  at  the  rat- 
browed  burglar  whom  the  other  woman  had  backed  up 
beside  Kestner.  "  An'  who's  th'  high-brow  ?  "  she  non- 
chalantly inquired  as  she  went  on  with  her  search. 

Then  she  stopped,  listening.  She  ran  across  the 
room  and  out  into-  the  hall,  leaning  over  the  banister 
for  a  moment  or  two.  Her  jocularity  had  departed 
when  she  returned  to  the  room. 

"  Lady,  we've  gotta  beat  it  when  the  goin's  good ! 
That's  the  Governer's  signal ! " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  asked  the  other  woman. 

"Sure?  Ain't  he  just  gathered  up  Tony  an'  the 
bag  full  o'  paper  an'  this  guy's  overcoat?  An'  ain't 
he  sendin'  me  up  here  to  give  you  th'  tip  before  th'  line 
closes  in  on  us  ?  " 

"  Then  what  can  we  do  with  this  man  ?  "  asked  the 
woman  with  the  revolver.  Her  eyes  met  Kestner's; 
then  she  looked  away. 

"  Keep  'em  covered  an'  I'll  fix  that,"  announced  the 
girl  as  she  ran  over  to  where  Kestner  stood,  caught 
him  by  the  coat-sleeve  and  quickly  snapped  a  pair  of 
his  own  handcuffs  over  his  wrists.  She  did  the  same 
with  the  smaller  man  beside  him.  Only,  before  she 
snapped  the  last  cuff  on  that  soiled  and  skinny  wrist, 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL1  1*7 

die  suddenly  linked  his  free  hand  through  Kestner*s» 
locked  arms.  This  left  the  incongruous  pair  linked 
together,  arm  in  arm.  Then  the  girl  ran  to  the  stair- 
head for  a  second  time. 

"  F'r  th'  love  o'  Mike,  get  a  move  on ! "  she  called 
impatiently  back.  .  .  .  And  when  Wilsnach  arrived, 
twelve  minutes  later,  he  found  Kestner  sitting  on  the 
bedroom  window-sill,  morosely  chewing  on  an  un- 
lighted  cigar  and  linked  to  an  even  more  morose-look- 
ing burglar  with  a  brow  like  a  rat !  And  Wilsnach 
knew  that  for  the  third  time  they  had  failed. 


PART  IV 
THE  QUARTERS  OFF  THE  AVENUE 


KESTNEB  waited  until  the  chamber-maid  had  fin- 
ished putting  his  newly  acquired  room  to  rights.  He 
waited  still  another  moment  or  two  until  he  heard 
the  click  of  her  pass-key  in  a  room  farther  down  the 
hall.  Then  he  locked  the  door  with  its  safety-latch, 
opened  his  suit-case  and  from  it  lifted  out  a  coil  of 
insulated  wire,  a  dry-cell  little  bigger  than  a  cigarette 
case,  and  a  telephonic  helmet  made  up  of  a  band  of 
spring-steel  with  two  small  watch-case  receivers  at- 
tached to  its  ends.  Then  he  went  to  the  window, 
opened  it,  and  from  an  awning  hook  on  the  outside  un- 
wound the  loose  ends  of  two  insulated  wires. 

These  he  drew  in  over  the  sill,  shutting  the  window 
down  on  them  and  carefully  connecting  them  with  the 
ends  of  wire  which  he  had  taken  from  his  suit-case. 
Having  drawn  down  the  window-blinds,  he  switched 
on  the  electric  lights,  swung  an  arm  chair  about,  so 
that  his  back  would  be  to  the  electrolier,  and  placed 
on  the  table  beside  him  a  pile  of  morning  papers  and 
a  copy  of  the  "  Isle  of  Penguins." 

He  next  adjusted  the  helmet  to  his  head,  fitting  the 
microphones  over  his  ears.  He  seated  himself  in  his 
chair,  with  one  knee  crooked  leisurely  over  the  leather- 
covered  arm.  Thereupon  he  took  out  a  cigar,  lighted 

it,  and  lay  back  in  his  chair  calmly  and  contentedly 

141 


142  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

perusing  one  of  the  morning  papers  which  he  had 
picked  up  from  the  table  beside  him. 

Kestner  had  not  read  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  col- 
umn before  he  let  the  paper  drop  in  his  lap,  and  sat 
listening,  with  his  head  a  little  on  one  side.  Thinly 
but  distinctly,  along  the  thread  of  silk-covered  copper 
which  connected  the  receiver  at  his  ear  with  the  dicto- 
phone  transmitter  concealed  behind  the  window-cur- 
tains in  the  room  below,  came  the  sound  of  a  piano. 
Kestner,  as  he  continued  to  listen,  recognised  the  air. 
It  was  Rubinstein's  Barcarole,  and  it  was  being  ex- 
tremely well  played. 

The  piano-music  continued,  stopped,  and  began 
again.  Then  still  again  it  stopped.  Kestner,  as  he 
dropped  his  paper,  caught  the  distinct  and  unmistak- 
able sound  of  a  door  being  closed. 

Then  came  the  sound  of  voices,  thin  but  clear,  over 
that  connecting  thread  of  copper.  And  with  the 
opening  words,  Kestner  knew  it  was  Cherry  Dreiser 
alias  Sadie  Wimpel  alias  Fuggy  Mason  who  was  speak- 
ing. 

"  How's  that  for  stealin'  a  base  ?  "  demanded  the 
pert  and  slightly  nasal  voice  of  the  shover  for  the 
Lambert  counterfeiters.  Her  inquiry  was  followed 
by  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  weren't  noticed  ? "  It  was 
Maura  Lambert's  voice  that  sounded  next,  deeper  and 
fuller-noted  than  the  other  woman's. 

"  Dead  sure !  I  beat  it  up  to  the  seventh  floor ; 
then  I  walked  down  three.  An'  when  I  meets  a  floor- 
skirt  on  the  stairs  I  brush  by  with  a  Chilcoot  stare 
that  leaves  her  frozen  to  the  marble ! " 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  143 

"  But  why  have  you  kept  us  waiting  and  worrying 
so  long?  "  asked  the  more  solemn  voice. 

"Ain't  a  girl  like  me  gotta  look  out  for  herself? 
Ain't  I  hep  to  what's  goin'  to  happen  to  this  gang?  " 

"  Nothing  can  happen  to  this  gang,  Sadie,  so  long 
as  we  stick  together !  "  was  the  answer. 

"  Can't  it  ?  With  that  sleepy-eyed  slooth  f r'm 
over  the  water  doggin'  us  ev'ry  step  we  take!  Oh,  I 
see  the  Gov'nor's  finish,  an'  I  see  it  close!  Why,  I 
can't  slide  into  a  pt>ol-room  an'  lay  a  bet  without 
havin'  some  one  lookin'  over  me  shoulder  an'  countin' 
me  change !  An'  this  shadow  business  is  sure  givin' 
me  the  Willies !  Doggone  it,  I  want  somethin'  I  can 
freeze  onto,  this  time.  I've  always  been  fooled. 
That  Count  dub  I  married  in  Monte  Carlo  turned  out 
to  be  a  bank-sneak.  That  Hinkle  man  I  loved  like 
a  father  was  nothing  but  a  mail-pouch  thief  lookin' 
for  a  capper.  That  American  photographer  who 
wanted  me  to  hit  the  state-fair  circuits  with  him  had 
cooked  up  a  panel-game  so's  I  could  go  through  a 
haytosser's  clothes  while  he  took  his  photograph  in  a 
cow-boy  rig-out!  They  was  grafters,  dearie,  ev'ry 
last  one  o'  them,  an'  I  was  hungerin'  for  a  Harlem  flat 
and  the  simple  life !  " 

"  Then  what  do  you  intend  to  do? "  asked  the 
deeper  voice,  none  too  sympathetically. 

"  Why,  I  inten'  to  cotton  to  that  bunch  o'  rhino  an' 
make  hay  while  the  sun  shines!  D'ye  get  me?  I've 
got  a  cherub-faced  old  guy  from  Saginaw,  who's  made 
a  million  out  o'  Michigan  lumber  an'  never  learnt  how 
to  spend  it.  I'm-  going  to  kindergarten  him  into  the 
trick  o'  movin'  through  the  white  lights !  I'm  goin' 


144  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

to  mason-jar  this  sucked  orange  stuff  an*  freeze  onto 
that  old  guy.  I'm  sick  o'  bein'  a  dip  an'  capper  and 
livin'  like  a  street  cat ! " 

"  And  then  what?  " 

"  I'm  thinkin'  some  of  starrin',  if  things  come  my 
way.  An'  that  old  geezer  is  certainly  crazy  about 
me.  He's  got  dropsy,  an'  a  face  like  a  Dutch  cheese, 
but  he's  just  famishin'  for  a  female  who'll  be  half-way 
decent  to  him  an'  tote  him  aroun'  to  the  Broadway 
shows  an'  help  him  with  his  pinochle  on  rainy  nights ! 
A  girl's  always  got  a  better  chance  with  an  old  guy 
like  that.  They  kind  o'  git  grateful.  So  I'm  goin* 
to  kick  in  when  the  kickin's  easy ! " 

"  Cherry,  you  can't  do  a  thing  like  this !  I  couldn't 
believe  it  of  you !  " 

The  other  girl  laughed. 

"  Wait  until  you  see  me  steam  down  the  White  Lane 
dolled  up  like  a  Longacre  Squab !  That'll  be  better'n 
gettin'  chased  off  the  map  by  a  bunch  o'  federal  flat- 
ties, I  guess.  Why,  I  gotta  do  it,  to  save  me  neck! 
I've  been  sufferin'  from  chronic  cold  feet  ever  since 
this  gink  Kestner  landed  on  us !  I  ain't  got  the  nerve 
to  break  a  plugged  nickel  for  a  postage-stamp  with- 
out gettin'  a  chill  wonderin'  who's  goin'  to  spring  on 
me  with  the  wrist  irons !  An'  once  they  get  your  fin- 
ger-prints down  at  headquarters,  what  chanct  has  a 
girl  got?  You  can  slide  across  the  pond,  an'  black- 
snake  round  the  Loov  an'  take  in  early  mass  at  the 
Madeleine.  But  I  can't  get  away  with  that  foreign 
stuff.  First  place,  I  git  balled  up  on  the  languidge. 
Then  I  get  so  homesick  I  could  fall  on  the  neck  of 
ev'ry  Cook's  tourist  that  buys  American  white-wear 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  145 

at  the  Gallerie  Lafayette !  An'  I'm  canned  for  Monte 
Carlo,  after  that  badger  coup  with  old  Novikoff ! " 

"  Then  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"Me?  Why,  I'm  goin'  to  sour  on  this  crime  stuff 
an'  reform.  Do  what  I've  been  tellin'  you  —  have  a 
nice  old  Uncle  Updyke  an'  an  electric  runabout  an' 
start  studyin'  for  the  stage.  No,  dearie,  this  ain't  no 
repentance  act  I'm  puttin'  over.  But  I've  got  the 
winter  to  think  of.  An'  I'm  tired  o'  being  chased 
across  the  map  by  ev'ry  low-brow  slooth  who  owns  a 
nickel  lodge-pin.  I  wanta  rest.  I'm  dead  sick  o* 
needle-pumpers  an'  hop-nuts  an'  crooks  an'  dips  and 
con  guys.  An'  I'm  dead  sick  o'  the  Gov'nor  an'  his 
d/iy-dream  about  makin*  eighty  million  o'  counterfeit 
an'  gettin'  away  with  it!  It  can't  be  done,  dearie. 
It  can't!  An'  take  a  little  tip  from  Sadie,  an'  beat 
it  while  the  goin's  good !  " 

"  And  what  could  I  gain  by  that  ?  "  was  the  quiet- 
toned  and  half-indignant  inquiry  of  the  other  woman. 

"  You'd  get  over  havin'  heart-failure  ev'ry  time 
you  hear  a  bell  ring!  Hully  gee,  woman,  don't  you 
know  that  shovin'  the  queer  is  a  felony  in  this  country 
an'  good  for  fifteen  years  with  hard  labour?  D'you 
expect  me  to  keep  me  beauty  an'  have  a  thing  like 
that  to  brood  over?  It's  too  wearin'!  An'  if  I  was 
in  your  place,  with  your  lookst,  I'd  sure  tie  a  tin  can 
to  that  nutty  parent  o'  yours !  I'd  get  a  smooth 
talker  an'  go  into  suburban  real  estate  or  open  a  swell 
little  bucket-shop  down  in  the  Wall  Street  distric' ! " 

"  Cherry,  you're  talking  nonsense,  and  you  know 
it !  "  reproved  the  fuller-toned  voice. 

"  No,  I  ain't.     An'  I  mean  it.     It  don't  take  me  a 


146  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

year  to  crack  wise  to  a  fightin'  chance.  You're  a 
boob  to  stick  to  a  nut  who  hasn't  a  show  in  the  runnin'. 
He's  in  bad,  an'  you  know  it.  An'  that  guinney  Mo- 
rello's  as  bughouse  as  the  Gov'nor  hisself.  He'll 
hang  the  Indian  sign  on  you.  An'  when  them  dagoes 
git  to  makin'  love,  I  want  somethin'  to  back  up  against 
so  I  won't  git  a  knife  in  the  back  for  stallin'  him  off 
when  his  zooin'  bug  gits  workin'  overtime !  They  ain't 
safe,  dearie!  An'  he's  so  stuck  on  you  he'd  file  his 
way  into  Sing  Sing  if  they  sent  you  up !  " 

"  Cherry,  you're  not  telling  me  the  truth  about  that 
lumberman  from  Saginaw !  " 

"  So  help  me  Mike,  dearie,  I  got  that  old  pineland 
fossil  so  he'll  eat  out  o'  my  hand!  An'  I  breeze  into 
that  house  o'  his  just  off  the  upper  Avenoo  an'  tell  the 
butler  I  want  covers  laid  for  four  an'  holler  for  a 
Clover  Club  quick  before  I  pass  away!  Why,  all  I 
gotta  do  is  dust  the  cigar  ashes  off  that  ol'  guy's 
vest-front  an'  feed  the  gold-fish !  " 

"  And  what  is  this  going  to  lead  to?  "  was  the  other 
woman's  question.  "  What  do  you  expect  to  get  out 
of  it?  " 

"  I  expec'  to  git  took  care  of,"  was  the  deliberate 
answer,  "  an'  I  expec'  to  eat  regular  an'  to  be  able 
to  hold  my  head  up  when  I  walk  into  a  Winter  Garden 
first  night  and  show  them  lobster-palace  broads  what 
a  year  in  Paris  can  do  for  a  girl  who  keeps  her  eyes 
open !  " 

"  And  you  intend  to  blackmail  that  ridiculous  old 
man,  the  same  as  you  blackmailed  Novikoff  and  — " 

"  Have  a  heart,  woman,  have  a  heart !  "  broke  in 
the  other  voice.  "  I've  never  so  much  as  lifted  a 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  147 

baroque-pearl  out  o'  that  old  guy's  stud-set !  I  ain't 
even  pinched  a  coffee  spoon.  I've  got  a  bigger  scheme 
than  that,  an'  a  neater  one,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  land  it, 
or  I'm  all  to  the  Camembert  as  a  Lambert  gang  cap- 
per!" 

"  You  mean  that  when  you  make  your  haul  it  will 
be  a  big  one?  " 

"  Nix  on  the  rough  stuff,  lady !  I  ain't  goin'  to 
loot  no  Fift'  Avenoo  home  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  a 
van  back  up  to  the  curb  an'  crack  that  ol'  geezer's 
faith  in  me.  Not  on  your  life.  I'm  goin'  to  make  this 
a  home  run  or  nothin' !  I  ain't  goin'  to  crab  a  nickel 
from  him.  I'm  goin'  to  make  that  ol'  man  marry  me, 
an'  I'm  goin'  to  make  him  do  it  of  his  own  free  will!  " 


II 

THERE  was  silence  for  a  few  moments  before  the 
deeper-toned  voice  of  Maura  Lambert  spoke  again. 

"  You  are  going  to  make  this  man  marry  you?  "  she 
repeated  with  a  note  of  incredulity. 

"  Sure,"  was  Cherry's  airy  reply.  "  Is  that  any 
worse  than  bein'  a  shover  for  a  run-down  gang  that 
dasen't  stick  a  head  out  o'  the  shell  without  havin'  a 
federal  slooth  starin'  it  in  the  eye?  " 

"  I  fancy  that  federal  sleuth  will  be  out  of  the  serv- 
ice before  we  are  much  older,"  was  Maura  Lambert's 
reply. 

"  Well,  I  can't  live  on  promises.  I've  got  my 
chance  with  Uncle  Updyke,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  take  it. 
An'  he's  no  piker.  Why,  the  first  thing  he  does  is  to 
stow  a  bond-safe  in  under  the  stairs  as  big  as  a  movin' 
van.  I  ain't  the  rubberin'  kind,  but  I  would  like  to 
know  how  much  junk  he's  got  in  that  strong-box  o* 
his.  An'  that  ol'  guy's  got  a  Japanese  valet  who  can 
talk  in  seven  different  languidges !  An'  me  still  wres- 
tlin'  with  stage-English  an'  goin'  to  the  mat  with  the 
broad  A's ! " 

"  Sadie,  why  should  a  Mackinaw  lumberman  have  a 
valet  who  can  speak  seven  different  languages  ?  "  de- 
manded Maura  Lambert. 

"  Dearie,  don't  worry  about  Uncle  Updyke.     I'm 

the  down  an'  outer  in  this  deal ;  an*  that's  why  I  got 

148 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  149 

you  on  the  wire  this  mornin'.  You  gotta  help  me  out. 
You  gotta  dope  me  out  some  phoney  paper  from  me 
Mother-Superior!  I  know  you  hate  doin'  that  pen 
work,  but  I  gotta  have  somethin'  to  clinch  me  past. 
You  gotta  forge  me  a  couple  o'  family  charts  to 
steer  by ! " 

A  moment's  silence  ensued  in  that  strange  conversa- 
tion. Then  Maura  Lambert  spoke  again. 
"  Sadie,  where  did  you  meet  this  man?  " 
"  Jus'  a  minute,"  reprimanded  the  other  woman. 
"  I  wantta  put  you  gerry  to  my  name,  from  now  on. 
Nix  on  the  Sadie  an'  the  Puggy  an'  the  Wimpel.  I've 
canned  that  low-brow  monacker.  After  this  I'm  Fran- 
cine  Florette.  Get  so  you  won't  be  gun-shy  to  that. 
An'  remember  I'm  a  movie  actress  temp'ry  laid  off 
with  water  on  the  knee.  An'  I've  got  the  knee  to  show 
for  it.  Francine  Florette,  remember,  educated  at 
Ann  Arbor  an'  from  an  ol'  southern  family  that  lost 
everythin'  in  the  Galveston  flood.  As  for  that  Uncle 
Updyke  of  mine,  I  met  him  through  Madam  De  Mar- 
tinette.  She's  that  astrologist  off  Herald  Square, 
the  fleshy  dame  who  gets  fifteen  a  crack  at  the  crystal, 
an'  fifty  for  a  full  readin'.  I  grubstaked  her  to  tip 
the  old  boy  off,  so  things  would  fall  easier  for  me! 
An'  now  he  thinks  the  stars  got  together  an'  kind  of 
wished  me  on  him  an'  calls  it  Kismet  an'  spiels  about 
me  bein'  the  reincarnation  of  his  first  rag  buried  out 
in  Kickapoo.  How's  that  for  finesse?  I  guess  poor 
ol'  Uncle  Updyke's  been  stung  by  so  many  female 
grafters  makin'  a  straight  head-dive  for  his  dough, 
he's  got  to  dreamin'  I'm  an  angel  from  above,  jus' 
because  I  never  once  squeal  for  a  rake-off ! " 


150  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  And  still  I  don't  see  what  you  expect  out  of  all 
this  ?  "  was  the  somewhat  scornful  conclusion  of  the 
other  woman. 

"  As  I  said  before,  I'm  goin'  to  make  that  ol'  guy 
marry  me.  Then  I'll  have  him  nailed  for  life !  If  he 
has  the  nerve  to  renig  on  the  splice,  I'll  cinch  him  in 
the  only  way  that's  left.  I'll  clean  him  out,  the  first 
chanct  that  comes.  I'll  shovel  up  ev'ry  sou  and  ev'ry 
piece  of  jool'ry  I  can  get  in  a  Gladstone  bag  an' 
beat  it!" 

"  And  what  good  will  that  do  you  ?  " 

"  It'll  do  me  as  much  good  as  bein'  shover  for  a 
note-printer  who's  goin'  to  be  cornered  before  he  can 
cry  quits !  " 

There  was  a  pause  before  either  spoke  again. 

"  I  almost  think  you're  right,"  finally  admitted 
Maura  Lambert.  "  I'm  beginning  to  believe  he  will  be 
cornered,  in  the  end.  I  feel  that  we're  cornered  now, 
that  nothing  is  safe  any  more.  I  always  have  the  im- 
pression of  being  watched.  I  know  I  was  shadowed 
to  the  door  of  this  hotel  this  morning.  And  I  know  it 
will  never  be  safe  for  me  here !  " 

"  Then  what're  you  goin'  to  do  about  it  ?  "  was  the 
unsympathetic  inquiry. 

"  You  came  here  to  ask  for  help.  But  there's  one 
thing  in  which  I've  got  to  ask  you  for  help." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Wait  a  minute." 

Kestner,  through  the  silence  that  ensued,  could  not 
catch  the  sound  of  any  movement,  though  he  felt  sure 
that  one  of  them  must  have  risen  and  crossed  the  room. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  151 

"  What's  the  dope?  "  the  voice  of  Francine  Florette 
finally  inquired. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  care  of  these,"  the  other 
woman  explained.  "  It's  not  safe  for  me  to  keep 
them  any  longer.  And  you  would  never  be  suspected 
of  having  them !  " 

"  But  once  more,  lady,  what's  the  dope  ?  " 

"  It's  the  eight  plates  that  we  must  keep,  whatever 
happens.  They've  been  taken  off  the  blocks  and 
wrapped  in  strips  of  one  of  my  silk  underskirts.  That 
is  so  they  can't  mar  or  scratch.  Then  I've  sewn  them 
up  in  this  piece  of  chamois.  That  makes  them  into 
a  small  parcel." 

The  other  girl  whistled. 

"  You're  not  goin'  to  hand  that  hardware  over  to 
me?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I've  got  to  hand  it  to  somebody,  until  things  clear 
up!" 

"  But  what  can  I  do  with  it?  " 

"  Simply  keep  it  where  it's  safe  until  I  come  for  it, 
or  send  for  it." 

"  But  s'posin'  that  ol'  guy  got  gerry  to  me  bein' 
mixed  up  with  a  bunch  o'  paper-pushers?  It'd  queer 
me  for  life.  He  thinks  I'm  only  ten  months  out  of  a 
private  school ! " 

"  It  won't  be  the  plates  that  will  enlighten  him ! " 

"  But  s'posin'  they  shadow  me?  " 

"  Nobody  saw  you  come  here,  and  nobody  need  see 
you  go  away.  It's  not  the  first  time  you've  taken 
care  of  them.  And  they  are  more  important  than 
your  Saginaw  millionaire." 


15*  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Not  to  me !  "  amended  the  other. 

"  They  may  be,  when  you  find  your  millionaire 
out ! "  was  Maura  Lambert's  none  too  sympathetic 
reply. 

"  Aw,  don't  knock  me  only  life-buoy !  "  There  was 
a  moment  of  silence.  "  An'  if  I  wet-nurse  those  plate*, 
do  I  get  that  phoney  paper  about  me  family-tree?  " 

"  How  soon  do  you  want  it  ?  " 

"  The  sooner,  the  better,  dearie !  " 

"  Then  when  you  hand  these  plates  back  to  me  in 
three  days'  time,  I'll  do  what  I  can  for  you  about  the 
family  papers ! " 

"  An'  I  want  a  couple  of  mash-notes  jus'  to  show 
the  old  geezer  he  ain't  the  only  pebble !  An'  I'll  stow 
that  hardware  where  a  truffle-hound  couldn't  nose  it 
out!" 

There  was  still  another  period  of  silence. 

"  They'll  go  in  your  muff,  you  see,"  said  the  other 
more  carefully  modulated  voice,  "  and  no  one  will  be 
any  the  wiser !  " 

"  Sure,"  was  the  abstracted  reply.  Then  came  a 
vague  movement  or  two  about  the  room,  and  the  same 
voice  speaking  again.  "  There's  me  house  number, 
an'  me  phone,  if  anything  turns  up.  But  be  sure  to 
ask  for  Francine,  dearie,  Francine  Florette." 


Ill 

KESTNER  did  not  wait  for  more.  He  did  not  even 
t»ke  time  to  stow  away  his  dry-cell  and  his  dictophone 
wires.  He  merely  dropped  them  beside  the  back  wall 
of  the  room,  pushed  an  arm  chair  over  the  litter  to 
hide  it  from  the  casual  eye,  and  made  a  dive  for  his  hat 
and  coat. 

He  was  through  the  door  and  down  the  corridor 
before  the  elevator  boy  who  had  stopped  at  his  floor 
could  slam  shut  the  iron  grill  and  continue  his  down- 
ward flight. 

By  the  time  Kestner  had  reached  the  street,  he  had 
quite  recovered  his  breath  and  composure,  assured  of 
the  fact  that  the  woman  he  wanted  had  not  preceded 
him.  So  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  stood  back  in  the  shel- 
ter of  the  carriage  starter's  box.  His  wait  was  not  a 
long  one. 

His  first  impression,  as  he  watched  Sadie  Wimpel 
alias  Francine  Florette  step  to  her  waiting  taxicab 
door,  was  that  the  lady  in  question  seemed  very  debo- 
nair as  to  manner  and  very  resplendent  as  to  attire. 
His  next  impression,  as  she  turned  to  give  a  word  of 
direction  to  her  driver,  was  that  she  was  a  valuable 
woman  for  the  work  she  had  elected  to  follow,  a  woman 
of  quick  wit  and  pert  manners,  touched  with  both  au- 
dacity and  the  love  of  adventure,  as  unconscious  of  any 
complicating  moral-code  as  were  the  birds  of  the  air, 

153 


154.  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

as  light  of  heart,  indeed,  as  a  city  sparrow,  as  ready 
to  snatch  at  a  chance  as  a  terrier  is  to  snatch  at  a 
chicken-bone.  She  was,  he  decided,  in  every  way  a 
contradiction  of  what  Maura  Lambert  stood  for  and 
seemed  to  embody. 

Kestner  waited  until  the  taxi  was  under  way.  Then 
he  swung  himself  up  on  the  running-board,  caught  the 
handle  of  the  door,  opened  it,  and  stepped  inside. 
It  was  all  done  so  quickly  that  the  driver  of  the  taxi 
himself  was  quite  ignorant  of  that  intrusion  as  the 
car  gathered  speed  and  took  the  turn  at  the  next  cor- 
ner. 

Sadie  Wimpel,  as  Kestner  sank  down  in  the  seat  be- 
side her,  did  not  scream.  She  made  no  movement  to 
escape.  She  did  not  change  colour,  since  the  rouge 
on  her  cheeks  was  too  thick  to  admit  of  its  being  a 
barometer  of  her  emotions.  She  merely  sank  back  in 
her  seat,  staring  at  the  intruder  with  half  petulant 
and  half  interrogative  eyes. 

"  Hully  gee !  "  she  finally  and  fretfully  remarked. 
She  took  a  deeper  breath  as  they  sped  on.  "  You 
gumshoe  guys  sure  give  me  the  Willies ! " 

"  That's  all  right,  Francine ! "  was  Kestner's  un- 
concerned retort.  He  himself  leaned  forward  and 
glanced  out  through  the  taxi  window  to  make  sure  of 
their  position. 

The  girl  beside  him  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Is  this  a  pinch  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Not  unless  you  insist  on  turning  it  into  one ! " 
Kestner  told  her. 

"  Then  what's  the  string?  " 

"  Eight  bank-note  plates !  " 


THE  HAND 'OF  PERIL  155 

She  stared  at  him  with  widened  eyes. 

"  What's  the  man  ravin'  about  ?  "  she  asked  of  the 
circumambient  taxi-hood. 

"  Eight  Lambert  counterfeit  plates  sewn  up  in  a 
chamois,"  explained  Kestner. 

"  Not  in  my  vanity -bag !  "  averred  Sadie. 

"  But  in  this  taxi,"  insisted  Kestner. 

"  Search  me !  "  protested  Sadie. 

"  That's  what  I'll  have  to  do,"  intimated  Kestner. 
He  slipped  a  hand  into  the  muff  lying  on  her  knees, 
and  found  it  empty. 

"  Say,  Mister  Slooth,  haven't  you  got  your  numbers 
mixed?  "  asked  the  pitying  Sadie. 

"  It's  no  use,  Sadie.  I  know.  And  this  is  only 
wasting  time  and  words.  I  want  those  eight  plates !  " 

"  Then  you're  goin'  to  do  some  slick  stage-con- 
jurin' ! " 

"  All  right,  but  I'll  get  them !  " 

"  I  know  a  plate  when  I  see  it,  an'  I  ain't  handled 
one  since  meal-time !  " 

"  Sadie,  we're  wasting  time.  I  know  what  I'm 
after,  and  I  know  that  you've  got  it.  Do  I  get  it 
now,  or  do  we  have  to  go  to  Bowling  Green  and  see 
Captain  Henry  and  waste  a  nice  morning  in  the  fed- 
eral offices  ?  " 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  ain't  got  any  plates ! " 

"  And  you  didn't  leave  Maura  Lambert's  hotel-room 
ten  minutes  ago?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

"  Rave  away,"  said  the  resigned  Sadie.  But  she 
stirred  a  little  uneasily. 

'*  Sadie,  I  don't  want  to  spoil  your  chances  about 
brushing  cigar-ashes  off  anybody's  vest-front,  but  un- 


156  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

less  I  get  those  plates,  I'm  going  to  stick  to  you  until 
the  cows  come  home !  " 

Sadie  turned  and  looked  at  him.  Then  she  sat  for 
a  moment  in  silent  thought. 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  she  finally  said.  She  stooped  forward 
with  a  sigh  of  resignation.  "  Just  gaze  out  of  that 
window  for  a  moment." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  those  plates  are  stowed  away  in  mj 
stockin' ! "  was  her  grimly  indifferent  reply.  The 
taxi-cab  had  slowed  down  and  was  drawing  close  in  be- 
side the  curb. 

Kestner  turned  perfunctorily  away.  He  heard  tht 
rustle  of  silken  drapery  and  the  sound  of  a  deeper 
breath  from  the  stooping  figure  so  close  to  his  side. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  young  woman  so  close  to  him. 
The  taxi-cab  by  this  time  had  come  to  a  stop. 

Kestner  turned  about  to  her.  She  had  swung  half 
round  in  her  seat,  and  her  forward-thrust  face  was 
quite  close  to  his.  Something  about  the  expression 
on  that  face  made  him  glance  quickly  down.  Her 
right  hand,  he  saw,  was  held  up  close  to  him.  But 
instead  of  holding  the  package  of  plates  between  her 
fingers,  she  held  a  black-metalled  automatic  revolver. 
It  was  a  short  and  ugly-looking  firearm,  suggestive  of 
both  a  Boston  bull-terrier  in  its  squat  proportions, 
and,  oddly  enough,  of  the  girl  who  held  it.  Its  lines 
seemed  to  repeat  the  lines  of  that  pert  and  impertinent 
profile,  and  one  seemed  as  unexpectedly  menacing  as 
the  other. 

"  Now,  Mister  Slooth,"  said  the  determined  rouged 
lips,  "  you  make  one  move  an'  I'll  pump  your  floatin' 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  1«7. 

ribs  so  full  o'  lead  you'll  look  like  a  range-target! 
One  move  —  an',  by  Gawd,  I  mean  it !  " 

She  groped  for  the  taxi  door  as  she  spoke,  half  ris- 
ing from  her  seat  and  backing  slowly  away  as  the  door 
swung  open. 

Kestner  stared  into  that  crafty  and  audacious 
joung  face  as  the  girl  lifted  the  revolver  so  that  the 
round  black  "  O  "  of  its  barrel-end  gaped  insolently 
and  impudently  up  into  his  own  face.  He  watched 
her  as  she  stepped  to  the  running-board  of  the  cab, 
and  from  there  drew  still  further  back  to  the  curb  of 
the  sidewalk. 

"  Not  a  move ! "  she  warned  him,  as  she  slammed 
shut  the  cab  door  behind  her. 

She  had  crossed  the  sidewalk  and  was  half  way  up 
the  brownstone  steps  before  he  came  to  a  decision. 
The  ignominy  of  utter  inaction,  under  the  circum- 
stances, was  more  than  he  could  endure.  He  decided 
to  take  the  risk.  And  taking  it,  he  knew  it  would  have 
to  be  taken  with  a  rush, 

He  was  half  up  out  of  his  seat  before  she  saw  him. 
She  turned  fully  around,  at  that,  raising  her  right 
arm  a  little  as  she  turned. 

The  next  moment,  Kestner  dropped  low  in  the  seat, 
hugging  the  worn  upholstery,  for  instinctively  he  knew 
what  was  coming.  The  sharp  bark  of  the  revolver 
mingled  with  the  sudden  crash  of  glass.  She  had  de- 
liberately shot  out  the  window  of  the  cab  door. 

Kestner  heard  the  driver's  shout  of  terror,  and  felt 
the  sudden  pulse  of  the  accelerated  engine  as  the 
clutch  was  let  in  and  the  cab  started  forward.  The 
man  inside  called  for  the  driver  to  stop,  but  several 


158  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

precious  moments  slipped  by  before  the  order  could 
be  understood.  And  before  Kestner  could  fling  him- 
self from  the  seat,  the  girl  who  had  fired  from  the 
brownstone  steps  had  slipped  inside  the  house  and  the 
door  had  closed  behind  her. 

A  blue-coat  who  had  heard  the  shot  came  on  the  run 
from  the  cross-street  to  the  east.  Kestner  met  him 
as  he  came  up. 

"  There's  a  woman  there  in  One-twenty-seven  we've 
got  to  get,"  cried  out  the  Secret  Agent. 

"  Who  fired  that  gun  ?  "  demanded  the  officer. 

"  Blow  for  help,"  was  Kestner's  frantic  command. 

"Who're  you?" 

"  Rap  for  help !  And  get  a  cordon  round  this 
block.  I'm  a  federal  officer  and  I've  got  to  get  that 
woman ! " 

"What  woman?" 

The  officer  was  already  tattooing  on  the  curb-stone 
with  his  night-stick.  The  bounding  staff  of  seasoned 
ash  filled  the  valley  of  the  street  with  an  odd  ringing 
call  that  carried  even  better  than  a  human  voice  could. 
Kestner  remembered  that  it  was  a  long  time  since  he 
had  heard  the  sound  of  a  night-stick  drumming  the 
pavement. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  again  asked  the  still  stooping  of- 
ficer, as  a  second  blue-coated  figure  rounded  the  cor- 
ner and  approached  them  on  the  double  quick. 

"  It's  a  counterfeiter,"  was  Kestner's  answer,  as  he 
made  for  the  steps.  "  And  one  with  the  goods  on !  " 


IV 

ON  the  second  floor  of  that  house  which  bore  the 
number  of  One-hundred-and-twenty-seven,  a  lank  and 
slatternly  young  girl  was  bent  over  a  porcelain  bath- 
tub, scrubbing  therefrom  the  residuary  tide-marks  of 
many  communal  ablutions.  Her  head  was  bent  low 
over  her  work  and  she  saw  nothing  of  the  resplendent 
and  somewhat  short-winded  figure  that  darted  sud- 
denly up  the  stairs  and  contemplated  her  from  the 
open  bath-room  door. 

"  Sis,"  demanded  this  figure,  "  d'you  believe  in 
fairies  ?  " 

The  scrub-girl  dropped  her  scrub-rag  and  raised  a 
dishevelled  head. 

"  No,  m'm ! "  she  answered,  quite  without  emotion. 

"  Then  it's  time  to !  "  was  the  prompt  retort.  "  I'm 
your  fairy,  sis,  an'  to  prove  it  I'm  going  to  hand  you 
over  about  a  hundred  dollars  worth  o'  Fift'  Avenoo 
wearin'  apparel ! " 

Even  while  she  spoke,  the  resplendent  apparition 
began  tugging  and  unbuttoning  and  unsheathing. 

"  What  d'ye  mean,  m'm.?  "  asked  the  vacant-eyed 
girl  with  the  scrub-rag. 

"  I  mean  I'm  going  to  swop  with  you.  Gi'me  them 
shoes  an'  that  gingham  skirt  an'  shirt-waist,  quick. 
Peel  'em  off,  quick,  or  I  might  change  me  mind !  This 
is  your  lucky  day!  An'  here's  five  bones,  sis,  to  seal 
the  bargain ! " 

Sadie,  breathless   and  writhing,  slipped  from  her 
159 


160  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL1 

shimmering  cocoon.  Then  she  pounced  on  the  still- 
hesitating  house-maid,  peeled  her  as  a  cook  peels  an 
onion,  and  struggled  into  the  more  ample  folds  of  that 
borrowed  raiment,  kicking  her  own  finery  toward  the 
staring-eyed  denuded  one  as  she  dressed. 

"  They're  all  yours,  dearie,  gloves,  a  Gimbel  hat  an' 
all !  Save  'em  for  Sunday  an'  you'll  sure  make  a  hit !  " 

She  continued  to  talk  as  she  caught  up  the  unclean 
scrub-rag  and  mopped  her  face  with  it.  "  An'  .don't 
try  chasm'  me  or  worryin'  me  with  questions  1  I've 
got  a  husband  who's  gone  bughouse  with  payin'  me 
bills  an'  says  I've  gotta  dress  simple ! " 

Sadie  slammed  and  locked  shut  the  bath-room  door 
on  that  still  astounded  young  house-maid  who  did  not 
altogether  seem  ready  to  believe  in  fairies.  Then  she 
turned  and  ran  for  the  next  stairway.  As  she  did 
so,  she  heard  the  street  door  below  give  way  with  a 
crash.  That  sound  served  to  lend  wings  to  her  flight. 

Not  once  did  she  stop  on  her  way  to  the  roof. 
There  she  tarried  only  long  enough  to  restore  the 
transom  to  its  place.  Then  she  ran  nimbly  across 
the  flat  tin  of  the  house-top,  dropped  to  the  next  roof, 
crossed  that,  and  ran  on  until  she  came  to  a  clothes- 
line dangling  with  a  row  of  freshly  washed  clothes. 
At  the  far  end  of  this  line  was  a  door  opening  upon  a 
stairway.  At  the  top  of  this  stairway  lay  an  empty 
laundry  bag.  Quick  as  thought  the  hurrying  girl 
caught  it  up.  Then  she  listened  for  a  second  or  two, 
peering  down  into  the  house  before  her.  Then 
quickly  but  quietly,  pausing  at  each  stair-head  as  she 
took  up  her  flight,  she  made  her  way  down  through 
that  silent  and  many-odoured  house. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  161 

She  reached  the  basement  without  discovery  or  in- 
terruption. There,  on  a  row  of  hooks  beside  the  door, 
she  saw  a  widow's  bonnet,  a  pair  of  oil-stained  overalls 
and  a  faded  plaid  shawl.  The  shawl  she  quickly 
threw  over  her  shoulders.  The  overalls  she  promptly 
stuffed  down  into  her  laundry  bag.  Then  she  stopped 
for  a  minute  with  a  mouthful  of  hairpins,  while  she 
twisted  her  hair  tightly  together,  and  pinned  it  flat 
above  her  ears.  Then  she  let  herself  out  through  the 
door,  stepped  across  the  area,  and  mounted  to  the 
sidewalk. 

As  she  had  expected,  a  blue-coated  officer  was 
posted  between  her  and  the  street-corner  to  the  west. 
To  the  east,  half  way  down  the  block,  stood  an  empty 
taxi-cab  and  a  scattering  of  curious  onlookers.  Here 
and  there  she  could  see  still  more  blue-coated  figures. 
She  gaped  at  them  for  a  moment,  chewing  vacantly 
on  an  imaginary  cud  of  gum.  Then  she  turned  about 
and  shambled  westward,  hitching  at  her  skirt  as  she 
went.  She  was  looking  straight  up,  squinting  va- 
cantly at  the  blue  sky  above  her,  as  she  approached 
the  idle  officer.  He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  with- 
out perceptible  hostility,  and  went  on  swinging  his 
night-stick.  Once  she  was  past  that  swinging  night- 
stick, she  took  a  deep  breath.  And,  once  she  had 
rounded  the  corner,  she  quickened  her  pace,  crossed 
the  street,  went  north  for  a  block,  struck  west  again, 
rounded  still  another  corner,  and  slipped  quietly  into 
the  family  entrance  of  a  corner  saloon,  where,  having 
sought  out  the  telephone,  she  expeditiously  exhumed 
a  hidden  pocketbook  and  sent  across  the  city  a  hurried 
call  for  assistance. 


162  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Then,  having  retired  to  the  one  dingy  chambre  sepa- 
ree  which  that  dingy  caravansary  offered,  and  hav- 
ing made  sure  a  certain  chamois-covered  package  was 
still  in  place,  she  ordered  a  silver  fizz  and  a  package 
of  Turkish  cigarettes. 

"  Gee,"  she  confided  to  the  shirt-sleeved  Hibernian 
who  proceeded  to  supply  her  wants,  "  but  I'm  sure 
gapin'  at  the  gills  for  a  smoke ! " 

It  was  five  minutes  later  that  Kestner  and  a  patrol- 
man, giving  up  their  house-search,  returned  to  the 
open  street.  There  they  met  nothing  to  revive  their 
failing  hopes  of  a  round-up. 

"  Tim,"  said  the  patrolman  to  the  officer  still  swing- 
ing his  night-stick,  "  you  dead  sure  nobody  got  by  you 
here?" 

"  Divil  a  sowl,"  was  Tim's  answer.  "  Nothin'  in 
petticoats  —  beyant  a  young  slip  of  a  gerrl  wid  a 
laundry-bag ! " 

"  A  what?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

"  A  kitchen-gerrl  wid  a  twisted  face  and  a  mug  full 
av  chewin'  gum  —  a  kid  widout  a  hat !  " 

The  patrolman,  unconscious  of  Kestner's  little  groan 
of  disgust,  turned  contemplatively  to  the  Secret  Agent. 

"  I  guess  we'd  better  work  to  the  east.  If  your 
woman's  in  that  block,  the  sooner  we  dig  her  out,  the 
better ! " 

Kestner  laughed  —  but  quite  without  mirth. 

"  The  woman's  gone,"  he  called  back,  as  he  strode 
toward  the  waiting  taxi-cab.  "  She  made  her  get- 
away with  that  laundry-bag.  And  here's  where  I 
have  to  begin  all  over  again !  " 


To  begin  all  over  again  was  a  predicament  which 
not  infrequently  occurred  in  Kestner's  profession.  It 
involved,  as  a  rule,  work  that  was  neither  romantic 
nor  engaging.  But  he  was  compelled  to  accept  it  as 
part  of  the  game.  And  in  the  end,  out  of  the  hum- 
drum greyness  of  the  commonplace  arose  the  pillaring 
flame  of  the  unexpected. 

So  it  was  with  heightened  spirits  that  Kestner 
slipped  into  a  street-corner  drug-store  and  for  the 
third  time  in  three  hours  called  up  his  hotel  and  got 
Wilsnach  on  the  wire. 

"  What  have  you  picked  up  ?  "  was  Kestner's  quick 
but  casual  demand. 

"  Not  a  thing,"  was  the  answer  over  the  wire. 

"And  nothing  has  happened?" 

"  Nothing  but  two  solid  hours  of  Chopin  noc- 
turnes," was  the  plaintively  disgusted  reply.  "  And 
a  neck-ache  from  wearing  this  helmet ! " 

"  And  you  can  get  nothing  now?  " 

"  Not  a  sound  —  the  lady,  doubtless,  having  gone 
to  bed." 

"  And  not  a  caller,  or  a  phone-call  to  the  room  ?  " 

"  Not  one.     I  couldn't  have  missed  it !  " 

"  Good !     I  was  afraid  Sadie  Wimpel  might  double 

back  with  those  plates.     But  Sadie  knows  her  busi- 

163 


164  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

ness.  And  that  means  I'll  want  your  help  at  my  end 
of  the  line." 

"What  have  you  rounded  up?  " 

"  I've  rounded  up  that  Saginaw  man's  house ! " 

"How?" 

"  It  took  over  two  hours  of  canvassing,  first  rent- 
ing agencies  and  later  the  employment  bureaus.  I 
knew  he'd  have  to  have  a  servant  or  two.  They  sent 
him  up  a  butler  two  days  ago.  And  I'm  shadowing 
that  butler  at  the  present  moment." 

"  Why  the  butler?  " 

"  Because  he  began  his  new  job  by  showing  he's  a 
flat-looter  looking  for  larger  fields.  He's  just  un- 
loaded a  bundle  of  silverware  on  a  Sixth  Avenue  pawn- 
shop, and  I've  got  him  across  the  street  at  Tierney's 
drinking  corn  whiskey  and  cursing  the  Japanese." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?  "  Wilsnach  in- 
quired. 

"  Let  the  dictophone  go  for  to-night  and  get  Byrnes 
on  the  wire.  Have  him  hurry  a  city  force  man  up  to 
Tierney's  —  one  he  can  trust.  I  want  that  butler 
held  down  at  headquarters  until  some  time  to-morrow. 
But  here's  the  important  point:  that  man's  got  the 
pass-key  to  the  house.  I  want  that  key  before  he  gets 
out  of  Tierney's !  " 

"  All  right !     Anything  else?  " 

"  In  an  hour's  time  I  want  you  to  be  covering  that 
house.  Make  a  note  of  the  street  and  number.  .  .  . 
And  if  Sadie  Wimpel  is  there,  those  Lambert  plates 
are  there  with  her." 

"  Supposing  she  shows  up,  do  I  let  her  go  in  ?  " 

Kestner  pondered  this  question  for  a  minute  or  two. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  160 

"Let  her  or  anybody  else  go  in.  But  don't  let 
anybody  coming  out  get  past  you.  Be  sure  of  that. 
Don't  let  any  man  or  woman  get  away  from  that 
house.  And  if  anything  suspicious  shows  up  when  I'm 
inside,  join  me  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  I  understand." 

"  But  hurry  that  Byrnes'  man  up  here.  I'm  pretty 
sure  our  butler  is  heeled.  That  gives  us  a  chance  to 
frisk  him.  And  he's  just  drunk  enough  to  be  ugly. 
I  want  the  pass-key  without  his  knowing  I'm  get- 
ting it." 

"  I'll  explain  that  to  Byrnes.  And  I'll  be  up  at 
that  house  in  one  hour." 

"  All  right,  Wilsnach.  This  may  be  a  busy  night 
for  both  of  us." 

"  Good ! "  said  Wilsnach  as  he  hung  up  the  re^ 
ceiver,  "  for  this  piano-recital  business  has  its  draw- 
backs 1 " 


VI 

IT  was  less  than  an  hour  later  when  Kestner  turned 
casually  in  at  the  Indiana  sandstone  front  of  a  cheaply 
ornate  house  not  far  from  Fifth  Avenue,  glanced  up  at 
its  heavily  curtained  windows,  and  slipped  a  pass-key 
into  the  lock.  Then  he  swung  open  the  vestibule 
door,  a  weighty  combination  of  plate-glass  faced  by  a 
grill-work  of  wrought  iron  and  backed  by  a  panel 
curtain  of  brocaded  red  silk.  He  did  this  calmly  and 
quietly,  yet  he  breathed  a  little  easier  when  once  he 
had  found  the  entire  front  of  the  house  was  in  dark- 
ness. 

Once  inside,  he  came  to  a  stop  and  took  out  his 
pocket  flash-light.  Then  he  stood  for  a  minute  or 
two,  listening  intently,  with  that  abnormal  nervous 
perceptivity  which  is  common  to  the  hunted  and  fre- 
quently acquired  by  the  hunter.  Once  assured  by 
those  over-sensitised  aural  nerves  that  he  was  momen- 
tarily safe  from  interruptions,  he  proceeded  to  explore 
his  immediate  surroundings.  He  did  this  cautiously, 
probing  with  his  narrow  light-shaft  into  the  gloom  as 
delicately  as  a  cook's  broom-straw  probes  a  rising 
cake. 

Before  him,  he  saw  a  wide  hallway.  The  back  of 
this  hallway  was  bisected  by  a  proportionately  broad 
stairway,  mounting  some  eighteen  or  twenty  wide 

steps  to  a  landing.     From  this  landing  it  branched 

166 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  167 

right  and  left  to  the  floor  above.  At  the  back  of  the 
landing  stood  a  huge  grandfather's  clock,  and  on  ped- 
estals at  either  side  of  it  were  two  suits  of  what  looked 
like  fifteenth-century  armour.  The  polished  metal  of 
these  two  suits,  as  obviously  factory-made  as  the 
clock,  threw  back  Kestner's  interrogative  flash  in  scat- 
tered pencils  of  light. 

Brief  as  that  survey  of  the  place  was,  it  proved 
sufficient  to  convey  to  the  trespasser  a  conviction  of 
the  general  shoddiness  of  its  grandeur.  From  the  rug 
on  which  he  stood  to  the  indirect-lighting  alabaster- 
basin,  suspended  on  gilded  links,  it  impressed  Kestner 
as  being  shoddy,  as  being  meretricious  in  its  splen- 
dours. 

He  did  not  wait,  however,  to  cogitate  long  over  this 
impression.  He  made  his  way  straight  to  the  stairs, 
circled  about  to  the  right,  and  under  a  velour  por- 
tiere found  a  pair  of  doors,  stained  to  look  like  ma- 
hogany. These  doors  were  locked.  A  minute  or  two 
with  his  "  spider,"  however,  soon  had  them  open. 
And  he  was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  the  steel  front 
of  the  bond-safe  he  had  expected  there. 

So  without  more  ado,  he  pushed  back  the  pine  doors 
flat  against  the  wall,  shut  off  his  pocket  flashlight, 
and  let  the  velour  drapery  fall  into  place  behind  him. 
There,  with  his  straining  ear  against  the  japanned 
steel  surface,  he  set  to  work  on  the  safe  combination. 

He  worked  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  quite  without 
success.  Then  he  changed  his  position,  dropped  on 
his  knee  again,  and  once  more  took  up  the  contest  be- 
tween a  mechanism  of  obdurate  steel  wards  and  dials, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  a  long-trained  and  supersensi- 


168  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

tised  ear  on  the  other.  But  a  half  hour  had  slipped 
away  before  he  had  conquered  the  combination. 

He  sighed  with  relief  as  the  plungers  slid  back,  in 
response  to  his  pressure  on  the  nickelled  handle.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  swung  open  the  heavy  door,  and  again 
switched  on  his  flash-light.  Then  he  proceeded  to 
search  the  safe. 

The  contents  of  that  carefully  concealed  vault  were 
eminently  disappointing.  There  were  a  number  of 
guide-books  and  passports  and  railway-maps,  reveal- 
ing the  innocent  fact  that  the  gentleman  from  Saginaw 
was  a  surprisingly  extensive  and  an  apparently  un- 
wearied traveller.  There  was  a  canvas  bag  of  French 
gold,  and  a  few  hundred  dollars  in  American  yellow- 
backs. Under  these  was  a  plate  of  etched  steel,  such 
as  might  be  used  for  an  exceptionally  large  business 
card.  There  were  also  a  package  or  two  of  letters, 
banded  and  sealed,  and  a  larger  package  of  unmounted 
photographs,  carefully  tied  together  and  as  carefully 
sealed  where  the  yellow  tape-ends  had  been  knotted 
together. 

The  one  thing  that  caught  and  held  Kestner's  at- 
tention was  a  despatch-box  of  metal  covered  with  an 
outer  case  of  worn  pig-skin.  He  drew  this  to  the 
front  of  the  safe,  turning  it  over  and  over  and  flash- 
ing his  light  interrogatively  about  it.  It  was  locked, 
and  his  "  spider  "  was  too  large  to  be  of  use. 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  caught  up  the  plate  of  etched  steel,  held  the 
box  under  his  knee,  and  worked  the  edge  of  the  plate 
between  the  box  and  its  lid.  Then  he  pried  with  all 
his  force.  That  force  was  sufficient  to  make  the  lock- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  169 

bar  yield  and  let  the  lid  fall  back.     A  moment  later  he 
was  going  through  the  contents. 

The  first  thing  on  which  his  wavering  pencil  of  light 
fell  was  a  methodic  bundle  of  blue-prints,  each  print 
folded  to  the  size  of  a  legal  envelope,  and  each  backed 
by  several  pages  of  typewritten  matter  and  enigmatic 
rows  of  figures,  interspersed  with  small  designs,  the 
nature  of  which  the  man  with  the  flashlight  had  no 
time  to  determine.  But  what  impressed  him,  even  in 
that  cursory  survey,  was  the  care  and  neatness  with 
which  each  document  had  been  prepared  and  filed  away. 
On  the  back  of  each,  he  also  discovered,  stood  a  me- 
thodically penned  descriptive-title,  and  he  stooped 
closer  to  decipher  these  titles.  Then  he  stopped  and 
took  a  fuller  breath,  as  though  an  unlooked-for  shock 
had  imposed  on  him  the  necessity  of  some  prompt  men- 
tal readjustment.  For  the  documents  into  which  he 
had  peered  at  haphazard  were  labelled  as  follows :  — 

"Baker,  Fort.  Cal.  (West  Dept)  RR.S.  Sausalito  —  T. 
M.  Weaver  —  maps. 

"  Banks,  Fort.  Mass.  Cal.  (East  Dept)  Winthrop 
Branch,  Boston  —  depend  on  Screven  for  code-wires  and 
data. 

"Barrancas,  Fort.  Fla.  (East.  Dept)  Tel.  and  P.O. 
same ;  8m,  Pensacola  —  Leavett  or  Riley  safe. 

"  Barry,  Fort.  Cal  " — 

Kestner  would  have  read  more,  for  that  list  most 
acutely  appealed  to  his  professional  curiosity.  But 
the  chance  to  delve  deeper  into  the  package,  he  saw, 
was  suddenly  lost  to  him.  His  first  instinctive  move- 
ment was  to  quench  his  flash-light.  His  next  was  to 


170  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

crowd  close  in  under  the  velour  hanging  and  stand 
there  holding  his  breath.  There  had  come  to  him  the 
distinct  sound  of  a  door  opening  and  closing  again, 
the  fall  of  quick  steps  along  the  floor,  the  rustle  of 
drapery,  and  the  tap  of  hurrying  heels  on  the  polished 
hardwood  treads  of  the  stairway.  A  moment  later  he 
heard  the  snap  of  a  switch.  He  could  tell,  even  from 
his  hiding-place,  that  the  upper  hall  had  been  lighted. 

Kestner  waited  a  moment  and  then  slipped  quietly 
out  from  under  his  covering.  He  crept  forward  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairway,  keeping  close  to  the  shadowy 
wainscoting.  Then  he  peered  up  the  stairs,  to  where 
the  light  shone  strongest. 

There,  in  front  of  the  great  old-fashioned  grand- 
father's clock,  he  saw  Sadie  Wimpel.  She  had  swung 
open  the  clock-door  and  had  dropped  on  one  knee  be- 
fore the  large  time-piece.  Kestner  could  see  her  as  she 
reached  carefully  into  the  clock,  with  one  hand,  and 
he  knew  that  she  had  either  just  concealed  something 
in  that  untoward  hiding-place  or  had  just  taken  some- 
thing from  it. 

Kestner  watched  her  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  dusted 
her  finger-tips  by  brushing  them  lightly  together,  and 
then  carefully  closed  the  clock-door.  Then  she  looked 
quickly  to  the  right  and  the  left,  to  where  the  divided 
stairway  led  to  the  floor  above.  Apparently  satisfied 
that  she  had  been  quite  unobserved  from  that  quarter, 
she  stepped  forward  and  turned  out  the  light  at  the 
wall-switch  on  the  landing. 

Kestner  stood  listening  as  she  made  her  way  on  up 
the  stairs  and  deeper  into  the  house.  He  heard  a  door 
open  and  close  and  the  sound  of  steps  and  another 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  171 

door  being  opened.  Then  came  the  sound  of  voices, 
thin  and  faraway,  from  an  inner  room,  the  dim  echo 
of  a  girl's  laugh,  an  answering  more  guttural  laugh, 
and  then  the  soft  thud  of  a  closing  door  again. 

Kestner  tiptoed  back  to  the  safe,  closed  the  steel 
door,  restored  the  imitation  velour  drapery  to  its 
place,  and  started  cautiously  up  the  stairs.  He 
moved  quietly  but  quickly,  taking  the  turn  to  the 
right  as  the  girl  had  done.  He  did  not  come  to  a  stop 
until  he  had  passed  a  portiere  and  found  himself  in 
utter  darkness,  a  little  puzzled  as  to  which  way  to  pro- 
ceed. 

As  he  stood  there  in  doubt,  he  heard  the  thin  sound 
of  voices  again.  Then  he  made  still  another  discov- 
ery. For  several  seconds  he  had  remained  stationary, 
puzzled  by  the  faint  aroma  which  filled  the  darkness 
about  him,  assailing  his  memory  with  some  ghostly 
association  which  eluded  explanation.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  it  came  home  to  him.  That  indeterminate  re- 
minder of  the  past  arose  from  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  Russian  cigarette.  It  was  a  fragrance  that 
took  him  at  a  bound  back  to  Nevskii  Prospekt  and  the 
Mvika,  to  Contant's  and  Pivato's  and  to  Mauritania 
and  Moscow  and  the  coffee-houses  of  Kherson  on  those 
hot  August  nights  when  certain  Asiatic  fortress-plans 
had  been  lost  and  in  the  end  found  again. 

Kestner  knew  that  he  was  sniffing  a  cigarette  which 
had  been  bought  and  made  in  Russia.  And  the  thin 
and  exotic  odour  of  that  tobacco  suddenly  stirred  him 
beyond  reason,  disturbed  him  more  than  he  would  have 
been  willing  to  acknowledge. 

He  stepped  gropingly  toward  the  door  from  which 


TO  THE  HAND  OF  PERU, 

the  sound  of  muffled  voices  still  came.  But  he  could 
hear  nothing  clearly.  So  he  crept  still  closer,  until 
his  body  was  against  the  door-frame  itself.  He  was 
about  to  reach  out  a  cautious  hand  and  grasp  the 
door-knob  when  he  became  suddenly  and  tinglingly 
aware  that  he  was  no  longer  standing  in  darkness. 
The  electrics  had  been  switched  on  behind  him. 

That  discovery  brought  him  wheeling  about  as 
though  he  had  been  shot.  He  found  himself,  even  as 
his  hand  went  to  his  hip,  standing  face  to  face  with  a 
straight-bodied  and  youthful-looking  Japanese  in  a 
service  coat.  This  was  the  valet,  Kestner  surmised, 
of  whom  Sadie  Wimpel  had  spoken.  And  here,  he 
further  surmised,  was  as  pretty  a  kettle  of  fish  as  a 
man  could  stumble  into ! 

"You  wish  to  see?" — the  imperturbed  voice  in- 
quired in  excellent  and  most  crisply  enunciated  Eng- 
lish. He  spoke  very  quietly,  without  surprise  and 
without  apprehension,  with  a  fortitude  that  seemed 
reptilious  in  its  casual  intentness. 

The  two  strangely  divergent  figures  stood  facing 
each  other,  studying  each  other  in  silent  appraisal. 
Kestner  stared  at  the  immobile  Oriental  face;  the 
oblique  aloe-like  eyes  stared  back  at  the  scrutinising 
Secret  Agent.  Odd  as  those  two  figures  were,  they  had 
one  thing  in  common.  Each  man  bore  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  achieved  an  area  of  authority ;  each 
man,  in  his  own  way,  was  plainly  not  unused  to  power. 
So  that  combative  stare  lasted  for  several  seconds, 
and  from  it  neither  emerged  in  any  way  a  victor. 
But  to  the  silence  there  had  to  be  an  end. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  178 

"  I  wish  to  see  your  master,"  was  Kestner's  final  re- 
sponse. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  "  inquired  the  crisp  and  tac- 
itly challenging  voice. 

"  On  confidential  business,"  was  Kestner's  reply. 
He  was  pondering  just  what  pretext  would  appear  the 
most  reasonable. 

"  But  the  nature,  please,  of  that  business  ?  "  was  the 
uncompromising  query. 

"Are  you  a  servant  here?"  demanded  Kestner,  in 
his  heaviest  note  of  authority. 

"  The  business,  please?  "  repeated  the  Oriental,  pro- 
longing the  ultimate  sibilant  into  a  strangely  snake- 
like  warning  hiss. 

"  A  servant  here,  a  butler,  has  been  stealing  from 
this  house.  I  have  just  arrested  him." 

The  studious  slant  eyes  did  not  move  from  Kest- 
ner's face. 

"  You  are,  please,  an  officer?  " 

"  Naturally  —  and  some  time  before  morning  I'd 
like  to  see  your  master." 

Again  there  was  that  silent,  combative  stare  of  ap- 
praisal and  counter-appraisal  and  then  a  chair  was 
pushed  forward. 

"  Wait,  please !  " 

Kestner  bowed  and  stepped  over  to  the  chair,  but 
he  did  not  drop  into  it.  He  saw  the  slim-bodied  serv- 
ant cross  to  the  door,  tap  the  panel  with  his  knuckles, 
and  step  inside,  closing  the  door  after  him. 

Kestner  was  used  to  thinking  quickly,  but  here  was 
a  dilemma  where  an  immediate  decision  seemed  im- 


174  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  . 

possible.  His  first  impulse  was  to  follow  that  wise- 
eyed  young  Jap  through  the  door  and  have  it  out, 
face  to  face  with  the  Saginaw  lumberman  who  smoked 
Russian  cigarettes.  For  Kestner's  plans  had  mis- 
carried. Appearances,  he  had  to  confess,  were  dole- 
fully against  him.  Yet,  nothing,  his  next  thought  was, 
could  be  gained  by  waiting. 

He  stood  up,  looked  about,  and  then  sat  down  again. 
For  the  portiere  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  had  sud- 
denly lifted.  Through  the  doorway  where  this  por- 
tiere hung  stepped  a  young  woman.  And  that  young 
woman  was  Sadie  Wimpel. 

She  carried  a  tray  on  which  stood  a  small  chafing- 
dish  and  an  electric  coffee  percolator.  Several  seconds 
elapsed  before  she  actually  saw  Kestner.  Then  she 
came  to  a  standstill,  stooping  forward  a  little  with  the 
weight  of  the  tray.  Her  eyes  slowly  widened  and  then 
narrowed  again,  like  camera  lenses  controlled  by  an 
invisible  bulb. 

"  For  the  love  o'  Mike ! "  she  said,  very  quietly  and 
very  slowly. 

Kestner  himself  did  not  move.  He  sat  watching  the 
young  woman  as  she  placed  the  tray  on  the  end  of  a 
table,  still  staring  back  at  him  all  the  while.  Then  she 
lifted  a  puzzled  hand  and  milked  the  pink  lobe  of  her 
ear  between  a  meditative  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"  For  the  love  o'  Mike ! "  she  slowly  and  somewhat 
lugubriously  repeated. 

Kestner  decided  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  The 
situation  was  too  full  of  menace  for  delay. 

"  Sadie,"  he  said,  as  he  took  a  step  or  two  nearer 
her,  "  this  is  one  of  the  big  moments  of  your  life !  " 


THE  HAND  OF  PERU,  175 

"  Yes,  it  looks  it !  "  was  her  mocking  retort.  "  It 
looks  it,  with  me  last  chance  queered !  " 

"  You  never  had  a  chance  here,"  he  told  her.  "  And 
it  won't  be  long  before  you  find  that  out." 

"  So  you're  gay-cattin'  for  me  now ! "  she  derided. 
Kestner,  ignoring  her  scorn,  stepped  still  nearer,  for 
the  door  had  opened  and  the  Japanese  valet  was  step- 
ping out  through  it. 

"  Whatever  happens  in  there,  forget  we're  enemies. 
Give  me  five  minutes  with  that  man  and  you'll  under- 
stand. Wait,  that's  all  I  want  you  to  do ! " 

She  did  not  answer  him,  for  the  valet  was  already 
close  to  them. 

"  Come,  please,"  he  said  with  his  crisp  intonation 
and  his  punctiliously  polite  forward  bend  of  the  body. 

And  Kestner,  wary  and  watchful,  for  all  his  heavy- 
lidded  smile  of  indifference,  crossed  to  the  open  door 
and  stepped  into  the  other  room. 


KESTNEE,  as  he  stepped  into  that  second  room,  found 
himself  confronting  a  figure  which  at  first  sight  re- 
minded him  of  a  rubicund  and  weather-beaten  old 
robin. 

This  figure  sat  in  a  wing-chair,  at  the  end  of  a 
heavy  oak  table.  Its  ample  paunch  was  covered  by  a 
cherry-coloured  dressing-gown  of  quilted  silk.  It  had 
a  patriarchal  polished  dome,  and  a  ruffled  fringe  of 
greyish-blonde  hair.  It  also  had  round  and  innocent- 
looking  amber-coloured  eyes.  A  terrace  of  fleshy 
dewlaps  took  the  place  of  a  chin,  and  added  to  the 
blithe  inanity,  the  cherubic  other-worldliness,  of  the 
figure's  general  expression. 

The  man  in  the  wing-chair,  at  first  sight,  seemed 
querulously  invertebrate,  a  pathetic  and  foolish  figure 
without  guile  and  without  purpose  in  life.  Kestner 
could  not  help  remembering  how  good  a  mask  that 
misleading  air  of  vague  imbecility  must  have  proved 
in  the  past.  It  was  a  pose,  and  nothing  more.  For 
even  as  he  sat  there  blinking  up  with  his  watery-look- 
ing amber  eyes,  it  was  plain  that  he  was  not  altogether 
off  his  guard.  The  newcomer  noticed  that  one  hand 
rested  in  the  partly-opened  table  drawer,  as  though 
arrested  in  that  position  in  search  for  a  paper.  But 
those  unseen  fingers,  Kestner  felt  sure,  held  something 
which  in  no  way  resembled  paper. 

"  We  meet  again,  m'sieu,  after  many  years ! "  said 
176 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  17T 

the  Secret  Agent,  as  he  calmly  surveyed  the  figure  in 
the  cherry-coloured  gown.  It  was  not  so  antique  a 
figure  as  it  made  a  pretence  of  being. 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  young  man ! " 
piped  up  the  thin  and  querulous  voice,  reviving  Kest- 
ner's  impression  of  the  weather-beaten  robin. 

*'  I  know  it !  "  was  the  other's  quiet-toned  response. 

"  We've  never  met  before,"  sharply  contended  the 
thin-noted  voice. 

"  On  the  contrary,  Baron  Piozzo,  we  — " 

"  My  name's  Nittner,  Updyke  Nittner !  You're 
mixing  me  with  somebody  else !  " 

"  Possibly  with  Gibraltar  Breitmann,  who  was  inter- 
ested in  the  Algiceras  map-robbery,"  was  Kestner*s 
gentle  suggestion. 

"  My  home's  in  Saginaw,  Michigan !  " 

"And  your  business  is  lumbering?" 

"  It  is !     And  what  is  yours  in  this  house?  " 

Kestner  noticed  that  Sadie  Wimpel  had  followed  him 
into  the  room. 

"  I'll  answer  that  when  you  tell  me  who  this  woman 
is!" 

"  That  woman's  my  niece." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  demanded  Kestner,  turning  to  the  girl. 

"  Sure,"  was  her  solemn  response. 

The  rotund  and  robin-like  figure  hopped  out  of  its 
wing-chair  with  a  celerity  that  was  startling,  and  a 
change  of  colour  that  tended  to  add  to  its  rubicund 
appearance.  Then  he  clapped  his  two  hands  sharply 
together. 

The  Japanese  servant  appeared  at  once  in  the  door- 
way. 


178  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  Miyako !  Put  on  the  lights.  Then  open  the 
front  door  for  this  gentleman !  And  open  it  wide ! " 

He  was  no  longer  a  ludicrous  and  watery-eyed  in- 
vertebrate ;  he  was  a  quick-witted  and  hornet-like  figure 
hot  with  the  fires  of  a  vast  indignation.  He  swung 
about  and  faced  the  quietly  smiling  Kestner. 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say  ?  " 

"  Just  one  thing,"  said  Kestner,  addressing  himself 
to  the  girl  at  the  end  of  the  oak  table.  "  And  that  is, 
my  dear,  to  warn  you  that  you've  hitched  your  wagon 
to  a  star  that  never  came  out  of  the  Saginaw  valley ! 
Your  uncle  is  Wallaby  Sam,  who  eleven  years  ago  came 
out  of  an  Australian  penal  colony  and  as  Gustav  Korff 
stole  war-secrets  for  certain  German  military  attaches. 
Three  years  later,  a  Baron  Piozzo  was  arrested  at 
Boden,  a  Swedish  fortification  on  the  Russian  frontier, 
for  selling  military  maps  to  Petrograd  agents.  That 
Baron  was  your  uncle  here !  Two  years  later  he  was 
rounded  up  in  Budapest,  at  the  same  game,  only  this 
time  he  was  operating  with  a  woman  he  had  especially 
trained  for  that  work.  And  if  you  stay  with  him 
you'll  do  more  than  brush  the  cigar-ashes  off  his  vest- 
front  and  feed  the  gold-fish,  because  he  wants  you  for 
one  thing,  and  only  one  thing.  Inside  of  two  months 
he'll  have  you  gay-catting  for  him,  the  same  as  he  had 
that  Polish  countess  who  didn't  happen  to  be  born  in 
Saginaw,  Michigan ! " 

Kestner,  as  he  paused  for  breath,  fell  back  a  step  or 
two,  until  he  stood  in  the  open  door.  "  And  I  guess 
that's  about  all !  " 

The  hornet-like  figure  was  no  longer  looking  at  him. 
The  man  in  the  cherry-coloured  gown  had  turned 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  179 

toward  the  girl,  and  over  that  cherubic  and  chinless 
face  a  brick-red  colour,  apoplectic  in  intensity,  had 
slowly  spread.  He  became  suddenly  significant  and 
impressive  in  his  rage. 

"  This  is  your  doing ! "  he  cried  out  as  he  advanced 
on  the  wide-eyed  girl,  who  fell  back  before  him,  step  by 
step.  But  it  was  more  bewilderment  than  fear  that 
caused  this  retreat. 

"  Mine  ?  What  t'  hell  have  I  done  ?  "  was  her  bel- 
ligerent demand. 

The  robin-like  figure  was  now  all  but  majestic  in  its 
rage. 

"Done?"     Words  seemed  beyond  him. 

"  Yes,  what  have  I  done,  you  double-faced  old 
cut-up?" 

"  What  have  you  done?     You've  — " 

He  suddenly  stopped,  for  from  the  front  of  the 
house  came  a  cry  that  sounded  strangely  like  a  cry  of 
warning,  or  a  cry  for  help.  Kestner,  at  the  same 
moment  that  he  surmised  Wilsnach  had  got  through 
the  front  door  and  encountered  the  Jap,  saw  the 
cherry-clad  figure  wheel  suddenly  about  and  run  for 
the  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  He  himself 
dodged  out  through  the  doorway  in  which  he  stood  and 
ran  for  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

On  the  landing  below  him  he  saw  Wilsnach  and  the 
Japanese  valet  writhing  together,  face  down  on  the 
hardwood  boards.  Kestner  could  not  decipher  the 
nature  of  the  valet's  hold  on  his  colleague.  It  seemed, 
at  that  first  fleeting  glance,  a  hold  inextricably  compli- 
cated and  yet  absurdly  powerful. 

Even  before  Kestner  realised  the  need  for  inter- 


180  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

ference,  even  before  he  could  descend  his  wing  of  the 
stairway,  he  saw  the  figure  in  the  cherry-coloured 
dressing-gown  catapult  down  the  wing  that  led  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  wide  hallway.  He  knew  then 
that  it  was  no  longer  a  time  for  hesitation.  Throwing 
off  his  coat,  he  took  the  stairs  at  a  bound. 

They  seemed  to  come  together,  those  four  contending 
figures,  as  though  drawn  to  one  spot  by  a  magnet. 
They  came  together  on  that  landing  like  kernels  thrown 
into  a  hopper,  like  contending  acids  poured  into  a 
test-tube. 

Kestner  was  conscious  only  of  the  fact  that  he  and 
the  startlingly  robust  figure  with  the  cherubic  face  had 
come  together,  had  locked  arms  and  legs  and  were 
engaged  in  an  Adamitic  struggle  for  supremacy.  He 
knew,  in  a  vague  way,  that  the  other  struggling  couple 
were  involved  with  them,  that  a  third  hand  was  clawing 
at  his  face  and  hair,  that  a  power  which  he  found  it 
hard  to  resist  was  straining  itself  to  force  him  back  and 
roll  him  down  the  wide  stairway  to  the  floor  below.  He 
scarcely  knew,  as  he  fought  for  anchorage,  that  he  had 
caught  at  the  clock-base.  There  was  no  mental  regis- 
tration of  the  fact  that  a  rustling  figure  had  slipped 
down  to  the  landing,  switched  out  the  light,  and  groped 
her  way  onward  down  through  the  darkness  to  the 
street.  He  had  a  vague  memory  of  the  huge  clock 
coming  over,  and  bringing  with  it  the  two  suits  of  fac- 
tory-made armour.  There  was  the  crash  of  glass,  the 
release  of  weights  and  springs,  the  tumult  of  contend- 
ing plates  of  steel,  an  intermingling  clangour  of  brass 
and  chains  and  splintering  wood  and  shouting  throats 
as  the  great  clock  and  the  suits  of  rattling  steel  and 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  181 

the  four  bewilderingly  involved  human  beings  went 
rolling  and  cascading  down  that  wide  stairway  to  the 
hall  floor  below. 

Then  came  gasps  and  calls  and  spasmodic  move- 
ments, a  thick  grunt  or  two  of  satisfaction,  a  final  stir 
amid  the  shattered  glass  and  clock  entrails,  and  then 
nothing  but  the  sound  of  quickly  taken  breaths. 

"  Wilsnach !  "  called  Kestner,  with  his  knees  planted 
firmly  on  a  rotund  and  heaving  chest.  But  still  for 
several  seconds  there  was  silence. 

"  It's  all  right !  "  finally  answered  Wilsnach,  a  little 
thickly.  "  I've  got  him !  Dam'  'im,  he's  taken  the 
count ! " 

"  Can  you  switch  on  the  lights  there?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  was  the  sound  of  crunching  glass,  a  clang  of 
metal  being  struck  by  a  shoe,  and  the  next  moment  the 
newel-post  lights  flashed  up. 

"  Where's  Sadie  ?  "  asked  Kestner,  staring  a  little 
dazedly  about  the  ruins,  and  realising  for  the  first  time, 
that  he  was  cut  and  scratched  and  streaked  with  blood. 

"  I  heard  her  get  past  us  on  the  stairs ! "  acknowl- 
edged Wilsnach. 

Kestner  did  not  hear  him. 

"  Call  up  headquarters,"  he  said. 

*'  But  what's  the  game?  "  demanded  the  bewildered 
Wilsnach. 

Kestner  laughed  as  he  wiped  the  blood  from  his  face. 

"  Oh,  we  were  trailing  a  rabbit  and  rounded  up  a 
hyena !  "  was  his  answer.  "  That's  all !  " 


VII 

IT  was  three  days  later  that  Kestner  talked  with  the 
Department  at  Washington. 

"  That  was  good  work  rounding  up  Wallaby  Sam," 
said  the  chief's  voice  over  the  wire.  "  But  what  we 
want  is  that  Lambert  woman." 

"  It  will  take  time,"  announced  Kestner. 

"  I  don't  care  what  it  takes,"  said  the  voice  on  the 
thread  of  steel  that  brought  the  ear  of  Manhattan 
leaning  close  to  the  lips  of  Washington.  "  We've  got 
to  gather  her  in.  Casey  reports  another  Indian  Head 
ten  from  your  district !  " 

"  That  Indian  Head  ten  never  came  from  the  Lam- 
bert gang,"  protested  Kestner.  "  I  talked  it  over  with 
Casey  and  put  Wilsnach  on  the  case.  It's  the  work  of 
a  Williamsburg  Italian  named  Carlesi,  cheap  photo- 
engraving with  brush-work  colouring  and  hand  shad- 
ing. And  Wilsnach  ought  to  have  Carlesi  rounded  up 
before  midnight." 

"  But  you  know  what  it  means  to  us,  having  this 
woman  and  her  old  man  running  loose !  " 

"  They're  still  loose,  of  course,  but  they'd  never  do 
cheap  work  like  Carlesi's.  You  can  always  be  sure  of 
that.  If  they  break  bad  paper,  they  break  it  big !  " 

"  Precisely !  And  that's  why  we've  got  to  get  them 
and  get  them  quick.  That  First  Colonial  Hundred 

was   one  of  the  neatest  counterfeits  that  ever  went 

182 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  18S 

under  the  glass.  And  three  banks  had  O.K'd  it  before 
it  was  turned  in !  " 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  answered  Kestner,  "  but  you'll 
have  to  let  me  do  it  my  own  way." 

"  It's  your  case,"  assented  the  Chief's  voice. 

It  was  at  the  same  moment  that  Kestner  meditatively 
hung  up  the  receiver  that  a  knock  sounded  on  his  door. 
He  crossed  the  room  and  peered  into  his  fan-light  pro- 
j  ecting-mirror  with  its  minute  camera  obscura  attach- 
ment (an  invention  of  his  own)  and  saw  that  his  caller 
was  nothing  more  than  a  messenger-boy  in  uniform. 
Before  he  could  turn  the  key  and  open  the  door,  how- 
ever, the  knock  was  repeated. 

Kestner  eyed  that  boy  keenly  as  he  stepped  inside. 
The  occupant  of  the  room  even  yawned  and  stretched 
himself,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  but  made  his 
scrutiny  still  more  searching.  For  the  sealed  envelope 
which  he  stared  down  at  bore  Kestner's  own  name,  to 
say  nothing  of  this  new  address  of  his  which  he  had 
supposed  unknown  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 

He  signed  for  the  message,  opened  it,  and  motioned 
for  the  boy  to  sit  down.  At  the  same  moment  Kestner 
backed  against  the  door  and  quietly  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock.  For  one  quick  glance  had  already  carried 
back  to  consciousness  the  startling  fact  that  the  sheet 
of  paper  which  he  held  was  signed  by  Maura  Lambert 
herself. 

The  message  which  he  found  himself  reading  was 
both  explicit  and  brief.  "  Could  I  see  you  at  once?  " 
it  read.  "  I  ask  only  because  it  is  most  urgent  and 
most  important.  Maura  Lambert." 

After  studying  this  message  for  a  second  time  Kest- 


184  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

ner  stood  submitting  the  bearer  of  it  to  still  another 
of  his  apparently  impersonal  and  abstracted  scrutinies. 
Yet  in  that  brief  second  or  two  the  Secret  Service  man 
had  taken  in  every  detail  of  that  youth's  uniform  and 
appearance,  from  the  celluloid  number-plate  on  his  cap 
to  the  worn-down  heels  of  his  shoes. 

His  final  decision  was  in  no  way  a  contradiction  of 
his  first  impression.  That  A.D.T.  boy  was  authentic 
enough.  But  somewhere  behind  that  message,  he  felt, 
there  was  still  some  trickery,  some  hidden  trap  which 
it  was  his  business  to  fathom. 

"Where  did  this  note  come  from?  "  was  Kestner's 
casual  inquiry. 

"  Fr'm  th'  Alambo,"  was  the  equally  casual  reply. 

"  What's  that?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

"  Squab-dump ! "  was  the  laconic  answer. 

Then  seeing  he  was  not  understood,  the  uniformed 
jouth  added :  "  It's  one  oj  them  burlap-lined  apart- 
ment-hotels wit'  all  th'  onyx  in  th'  office  an'  all  the 
Tenderloin  in  th'  uppers !  " 

"  You  mean  it's  not  the  right  place  for  a  young 
woman  ?  " 

"  Gee ;  it's  full  o'  th'm !  An'  I  guess  it's  as  good  's 
any  other  theatrical  dump  along  th'  Way." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  Jus'  above  Longacre  Square." 

"  And  where  did  you  get  this  note  ?  " 

"  From  a  woman  in  number  seventeen." 

"What  did  she  look  like?" 

The  youth  appraised  his  interrogator,  looking  him 
up  and  down  with  listless  yet  uncannily  sagacious  eyes. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  185 

"  She  was  a  peach,"  he  finally  asserted.  "  But,  say, 
she  wasn't  th'  cheap  kind !  " 

"  Then  the  other  kind  there  are  cheap?  " 

"  They's  all  got  a  sprinklin'  o'  broads,  them  second- 
raters, —  'nd  I  guess  th'  Alambo  ain't  no  Martha 
Washington." 

"  What  did  that  woman  look  like  ?  "  repeated  Kest- 
ner. 

The  youth  struggled  through  a  description  which 
Kestner  was  able  to  organise  into  a  sufficiently  con- 
vincing picture  of  Maura  Lambert.  But  the  mystery 
of  the  situation  only  increased.  There  was  a  touch  of 
novelty  in  having  the  enemy  one  had  pursued  half  way 
round  the  world  suddenly  turning  about  and  soliciting 
an  interview.  And  it  was  equally  disturbing  to  the 
established  order  of  things  to  find  Maura  Lambert  in 
an  environment  as  unsavoury  as  the  Alambo  promised 
to  be,  for  Lambert,  whatever  his  activities,  had  always 
sheltered  his  youthful  "  scratcher  "  behind  at  least  a 
fa9ade  of  respectability. 

"  Was  that  woman  alone  when  she  gave  you  this 
note?  "  pursued  Kestner. 

"  Sure,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Did  she  tell  you  to  bring  back  an  answer?  " 

"  Yep !     An'  give  me  a  bone  extra  f 'r  bein'  quick !  " 

Kestner  pondered  the  situation  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  How  soon  will  you  be  back  at  the  Alambo  ?  " 

The  youth  took  off  his  cap  and  examined  a  second 
message  stowed  away  there. 

"  'S  soon  as  I  beat  it  down  to  th'  McAlpin  an'  back," 
was  his  answer. 


186  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  That  means  inside  an  hour  ?  "  asked  Kestner,  as 
he  sat  down  and  began  writing  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"  Yep,"  answered  the  boy. 

Kestner's  written  reply  was  as  brief  as  the  message 
that  prompted  it.  He  merely  said: 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  see  you  and  since  you  say  it's  urgent, 
the  sooner  the  better." 

He  sealed  the  note,  quietly  crossed  the  room  to  the 
locked  door,  turned  the  key,  and  stepped  out  into  the 
hall.  He  seemed  relieved  to  find  that  hallway  quite 
empty. 

"  Wait  here  for  me,"  he  called  back  to  the  boy. 

The  wait,  to  the  listless-eyed  youth,  was  not  a  long 
one.  But  in  that  brief  space  of  time  a  message  had 
gone  down  for  a  taxi-cab  and  a  federal  plain-clothes 
man  had  received  instructions  to  shadow  an  A.D.T. 
messenger  to  the  Hotel  McAlpin  and  from  the  Mc- 
Alpin  back  to  the  Alambo.  But  that  boy  was  to  be  in 
no  way  interfered  with. 

Kestner  handed  his  message  to  the  waiting  youth, 
and  with  it  a  dollar  bill. 

"  Now  are  you  sure  that  second  message  is  for  the 
McAlpin?  "  he  inquired. 

For  answer,  the  youth  produced  the  message  itself. 
It  was  a  violet-coloured  envelope,  redolent  of  patchouli, 
and  inscribed  with  a  handwriting  that  was  almost 
childish  in  its  formlessness. 

One  glance  at  it  was  enough,  and  the  next  moment 
Kestner  was  pushing  the  boy  half-humorously  towards 
the  open  door.  Once  that  door  was  closed  again,  how- 
ever, Kestner's  diffidence  had  disappeared.  In  two 
minutes  he  had  made  himself  ready  for  the  street,  and 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  187 

in  another  two  minutes  he  was  in  a  taxicab  speeding 
across  the  city  in  the  direction  of  the  Alambo. 

It  was  a  case,  he  felt,  where  nothing  was  to  be  lost 
by  taking  the  initiative.  He  had  long  since  learned, 
in  his  warfare  against  the  criminal,  that  there  was 
always  an  advantage  in  the  unexpected.  Instead  of 
quietly  waiting  for  Maura  Lambert  to  come  to  him, 
whatever  that  visit  might  signify,  he  was  going  to  her. 
And  in  work  such  as  his,  he  reassured  himself,  it  was 
worth  something,  now  and  then,  to  trump  an  enemy's 
ace. 


VIII 

IT  was  exactly  twelve  minutes  later  that  Kestner's 
knock  sounded  on  the  door  of  Suite  Seventeen  in  that 
rookery  of  migratory  birds  known  as  the  Alambo. 

He  knew  the  type  well  enough,  for  in  Paris  and 
Budapest  and  Monte  Carlo  and  Trouville  his  work 
had  only  too  often  taken  him  into  such  quarters.  He 
was  familiar  enough  with  each  sordid  detail,  the  en- 
trance of  gilt  and  marble  and  plush,  the  belittered 
breakfast-trays  at  bedroom  doors,  the  kimonoed 
figures  that  visited  from  floor  to  floor  and  calmly  ar- 
ranged hydrogenated  hair  in  elevator-mirrors,  the 
overflow  of  cocktail  glasses  and  beer  bottles  ungar- 
nered  by  slatternly  chamber-maids,  the  mingled  odours 
of  musty  carpets  and  house-pets  and  Turkish  ciga- 
rettes. 

It  puzzled  Kestner  not  a  little,  as  he  repeated  his 
knock  and  stood  prepared  for  any  emergency,  to  find 
adequate  excuse  for  Maura  Lambert's  presence  in  such 
a  place.  She  was  not  of  the  breed  common  to  such 
a  rookery.  He  reminded  himself  that  there  must  be 
some  exceptional  reason  for  her  retreat  to  an  environ- 
ment so  exceptional.  Then  all  thought  on  the  mat- 
ter ended,  for  he  heard  a  light  step  cross  the  room, 
and  a  moment  later  found  himself  staring  into  the 
somewhat  startled  eyes  of  Maura  Lambert  herself. 

It  was  plain  that  she  was  not  expecting  him.     He 
188 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

could  see  that  he  had  taken  her  unawares,  for  over 
one  arm  she  carried  a  low-necked  gown  of  white  chiffon 
cloth  embellished  with  dotted  net  and  lace  and  rib- 
bon-flowers. This  she  must  have  been  about  to  pack 
away  in  a  travelling-bag,  for  one  stood  open  in  a 
shabby  Morris-chair  on  the  far  side  of  the  room.  He 
noticed,  too,  that  she  was  dressed  for  the  street,  and 
it  did  not  surprise  him  to  catch  sight  of  her  hat  and 
gloves  standing  close  beside  the  travelling-bag.  Then 
he  looked  once  more  back  at  her  face. 

On  the  brow  beneath  the  heavily  massed  chestnut 
hair  was  a  small  frown  of  wonder.  The  dark-lashed 
violet-blue  eyes  were  wide  with  a  vague  incredulity. 
There  was,  too,  a  touch  of  timorousness  in  her  pose, 
but  she  made  no  move  to  withdraw. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,"  was  Kestner's  casual  re- 
minder, as  he  advanced  a  trifle,  that  the  door  might 
not  be  swung  between  him  and  the  one  woman  he  de- 
sired to  see.  Even  as  she  looked  at  him  her  self- 
possession  seemed  to  return  to  her. 

"  I  asked  if  I  might  come  to  see  you,"  she  amended, 
with  her  wide-irised  eyes  still  fixed  on  his  face. 

"  But  you  said  it  was  urgent,"  argued  her  visitor. 

"  It  is  urgent,"  she  admitted. 

Kestner  could  not  help  noticing  the  deepened 
shadows  about  the  heavily-lashed  eyes,  the  sense  of 
nervous  strain  about  the  softly-curving  lips.  The 
oval  face,  with  its  accentuated  note  of  tragedy,  re- 
minded him  of  some  pictorial  figure  which  at  first  he 
could  not  place.  It  was  several  minutes  before  his 
mind  reached  the  goal  towards  which  it  had  been 
groping.  He  knew,  then,  that  her  shadowy  face  was 


190  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

in  some  way  suggestive  of  Sargent's  painting  of 
the  prophet  "  Hosea." 

"  Then  shall  I  come  in  ?  "  he  quietly  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  an  abstraction  which  implied 
her  mind  was  occupied  by  other  and  more  troubling 
things. 

Kestner,  as  he  stepped  into  the  room,  swept  the 
place  with  one  of  his  quick  and  comprehensive  glances. 
Through  a  door  opening  into  a  small  bedroom  he 
caught  sight  of  a  partly  packed  trunk.  On  the  bed 
beside  it  was  a  disordered  tumble  of  clothing,  the 
litter  of  wrapping  paper  about  it  implying  that  much 
of  that  apparel  was  newly  bought.  These  quickly 
comprehended  details  gave  to  the  place  a  spirit  of 
transiency.  They  made  it  plain  to  the  newcomer  that 
he  had  interrupted  Maura  Lambert  in  some  sudden 
movement  towards  flight.  And  again,  as  he  stared 
into  her  face,  his  earlier  suspicions  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  a  trap  returned  to  him. 

Yet  he  was  very  much  at  his  ease,  face  to  face  with 
this  old-time  enemy  of  his,  and  in  no  way  afraid  of 
her.  The  one  thought  that  troubled  him  was  the  con- 
tingency that  she  might  not  be  alone,  that  behind  one 
of  those  menacing  doors  might  be  a  confederate,  that 
close  at  hand  was  some  coarser-fibred  colleague  who 
was  using  her  for  his  own  ends.  But  the  persistent 
voice  of  some  feeling  which  he  could  not  quite  de- 
cipher kept  telling  him  that  this  was  not  the  case. 
He  wanted  to  believe  in  her. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  "  she  said,  quietly  motioning 
him  towards  a  chair. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered,  as  formally  as  though 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  191 

his  call  had  been  a  social  one.  Yet  he  wondered  just 
why  she  should  have  this  power  of  restraining  ani 
intimidating  him.  In  work  such  as  his  there  was  lit- 
tle room  for  the  finer  issues  of  life,  and  he  had  long 
since  learned  not  to  be  overcourteous  to  an  enemy. 

The  sudden  consciousness  that  he  was  treating  her 
with  a  consideration  which  she  as  his  quarry  had  done 
nothing  to  merit  made  him  more  watchful  of  eye  and 
more  wary  of  movement.  He  resented  the  higher 
plane  to  which  she  still  had  the  power  of  coercing  him, 
even  while  he  prayed  that  she  would  not  confound  his 
inward  belief  in  her. 

Before  seating  himself,  however,  he  moved  his  chair 
back  until  it  stood  against  the  wall  of  the  room.  This 
was  an  announcement,  he  knew,  of  his  latent  distrust  in 
her  and  her  motives.  Yet  the  movement  seemed  lost 
on  her,  though  Kestner  reminded  himself  that  in  the 
past  she  had  proved  herself  a  capable  enough  actress- 
He  even  wondered,  as  he  gazed  about  those  small  and 
dingy  chambers,  how  often  the  antique  games  of 
blackmail  had  been  played  between  their  faded  walls. 
He  also  pondered  the  fact  that  she  would  be  an  espe- 
cially valuable  woman  at  such  work,  with  her  incongru- 
ous air  of  purity  and  other-worldliness,  her  undeniable 
beauty,  her  almost  boy-like  unconcern  of  sex. 

Yet  the  next  movement,  as  he  looked  back  at  the 
intent  face  with  its  inapposite  flower-like  appeal,  he 
resented  the  very  thought  of  her  as  a  pawn  in  any- 
thing so  sordid  as  the  panel-game.  It  was  unbeliev- 
able. He  had  seen  too  many  of  those  ladies  of  drag- 
gled plumes  and  their  meretricious  assumptions  of 
grandeur.  About  them  all  had  been  the  betraying 


198  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Saint,  the  inconsequential  word  or  move  that  marked 
them  as  demimondaine,  the  over-acted  gentility  that 
proved  as  obvious,  in  the  end,  as  the  paper  roses  of 
stagedom. 

"You  should  not  have  come  here,"  she  said,  after 
several  moments  of  thought. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

"  Because  it  is  dangerous,"  was  her  answer. 

"For  whom?" 

There  was  a  touch  of  cynicism  in  his  smile,  but  she 
chose  to  disregard  it.  Her  brow  did  not  lose  its 
\ook  of  troubled  thought. 

"  For  you,"  she  answered. 

*  But  not   for  you  ?  "   he  inquired. 

*  For  both  of  us,"  she  amended.     He  won  a  thin 
asad  wintry  pleasure  from  the  thought  that  they  were 
bracketed  together,  if  only  by  peril. 

"  Then  why  did  you  send  for  me  ?  "  was  his  next 
question. 

•There  was  a  shadow  of  reproof  in  her  eyes  at  the 
obliquity  of  that  inquiry. 

"  I  did  not  send  for  you,"  she  reminded  him.  "  I 
asked  to  come  to  you." 

"For  what   reason?" 

Her  eyes  were  again  studying  his  face.  He  was 
struck  by  both  their  fearlessness  and  their  lack  of 
guile.  That  strange  life  of  hers,  he  felt,  must  have 
beaten  down  those  flimsier  reticences  and  privacies  of 
sex  behind  which  youth,  as  a  rule,  sat  with  its  illu- 
sions. 

w  I  wanted  to  see  if  we  could  possibly  come  to 
terms,"  she  finally  announced. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  198 

It  took  an  effort  for  Kestner  to  retain  his  pose  of 
impersonality. 

"  What  terms  ?  "  he  quietly  inquired. 

"  That  is  what  we  must  decide  on,"  she  said  in  the 
same  tone  of  solemn  candour. 

"Why?"  demanded  her  visitor,  still  fencing  for 
time. 

"  Because  I  can't  go  on  like  this,"  she  replied,  with 
a  listlessly  tragic  movement  of  the  hands ;  "  nothing 
can  go  on  like  this !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  was  Kestner's  quiet  retort. 

She  did  not  resent  any  note  of  triumph  that  ma^ 
have  been  in  his  voice.  Her  brow  still  wore  its  look 
of  troubled  thought. 

"  It  isn't  you  that  I'm  afraid  of,"  she  announced, 
the  abstraction  of  her  tone  taking  all  sting  from  the 
statement. 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  lamenting  the  fact 
that  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  It's  myself,"  she  answered  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation. "  I  can't  go  on  with  this.  I've  got  to  get 
away  from  it  all ! "  The  violet-blue  eyes  were  once 
more  courageously  meeting  Kestner's  unparticipating 
stare.  "  You  remember  what  you  told  me  in 
Palermo?  How  father  and  I  could  never  keep  on  at 
this  sort  of  work,  how  it  must  go  from  bad  to  worse, 
and  always  lead  to  one  end,  and  only  one  end?  Well, 
that  is  the  way  it  is  leading.  I  always  tried  to  tell 
myself  that  money  would  be  a  protection.  To  do 
what  we  were  doing  seemed  terrible  only  when  it  im- 
plied poverty  and  terror  and  flight  from  one  corner 
to  another.  We  always  had  money  enough  to  keep 


194.  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

up  appearances.  And  when  we  worked  together  we 
always  felt  safe.  But  we  were  safe  only  because  we 
kept  together." 

"  And  you're  not  keeping  together?  "  Kestner  in- 
quired. 

"  We  can't,"  was  her  almost  tragic  answer. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  tell  me  why  ?  " 

"  I'm  compelled  to  tell  you  why." 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked. 

When  she  spoke,  after  a  pause,  she  unconsciously 
lowered  her  voice.  "  It's  Morello !  " 

Kestner  could  see  that  she  had  not  easily  made  that 
confession. 

"  But  why  should  you  be  afraid  of  one  of  your  own 
circle?" 

"  I  think  you  know  why  I  am  afraid  of  him,"  she 
answered.  Kestner  could  also  see  that  it  was  now 
costing  her  an  effort  to  speak  calmly.  "  He  was  al- 
ways an  animal.  But  now  he  is  half  mad,  and  worse 
than  an  animal !  " 

"  Has  he  anything  to  do  with  your  being  here?  " 
Kestner  demanded. 

"  He  has  everything  to  do  with  my  being  here.  I 
came  here  to  escape  him.  I  chose  this  place  because 
I  knew  he  would  come  to  a  place  like  this  last.  He 
knows  how  I  hate  such  things ! " 

Kestner  was  watching  her  narrowly.  He  decided 
that  she  was  one  of  two  things:  either  the  most  ac- 
complished of  actresses,  or  a  woman  who  was  indeed 
nearing,  in  some  way,  the  end  of  her  rope.  But  the 
years  had  indurated  his  sympathies,  and  he  warned 
himself  to  go  slowly. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  195 

"  What  does  your  father  say  about  it  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

There  was  a  momentary  look  of  revolt  in  the  brood- 
ing violet-blue  eyes. 

"  That  is  the  hopeless  part  of  it  all,"  she  acknowl- 
edged. "  He  is  willing  that  I  should  go  with  Morello. 
Something  has  made  him  change.  He  doesn't  seem 
willing  to  help  me  any  more ! " 

"  But  without  you  he  is  helpless  ?  " 

"  Without  me,  as  things  are,  he  cannot  go  on  with 
the  work  he  has  been  doing,"  she  admitted. 

"Why?"  asked  Kestner. 

She  did  not  answer  him  at  once.  Instead,  she  rose 
to  her  feet,  crossed  the  room  to  her  open  travelling- 
bag,  and  from  its  depths  took  out  a  parcel  wrapped  in 
a  strip  of  green  baize.  This  parcel  was  small,  and 
oblong  in  shape,  but  as  she  walked  back  to  the  chair 
with  it,  it  impressed  Kestner  as  being  of  considerable 
weight. 

"  Because  here,"  she  said,  as  she  sat  down  and  held 
the  baize-covered  bundle  on  her  knees,  "  I  have  all 
the  plates  with  which  his  new  counterfeits  were  to 
be  printed ! " 


IX 

KESTNER  sat  staring  at  her  as  she  slowly  undid  that 
innocent-looking  oblong  parcel  covered  with  its  green 
baize  wrapper.  His  pulse  quickened  a  little  as  he 
caught  the  glint  of  polished  metal.  There  were  eight 
plates,  he  could  see,  each  padded  by  an  oblong  of  red 
blotting-paper  trimmed  to  the  size  of  the  plate  it- 
self. 

Maura  Lambert  looked  up  and  saw  the  Secret 
Agent's  eyes  studying  the  sheets  of  metal  that  lay  in 
her  lap. 

"  It's  only  natural  for  you  not  to  believe  me  any 
more.  I  can't  even  ask  you  to  accept  my  word.  But 
these,"  she  went  on,  as  she  touched  the  plates  with 
her  finger-tips,  "  you  can  recognise  at  a  glance.  I 
want  you  to  take  them.  That  will  show  you  I  am 
being  sincere !  " 

She  was  holding  them  out  to  him,  but  he  did  not 
reach  for  them.  Yet  the  irony  of  the  situation  did 
not  escape  him.  Here  he  sat  face  to  face  with  the 
cleverest  counterfeiter  in  all  Europe,  the  woman  he 
had  pursued  half  way  round  the  world,  and  she  of 
her  own  free  will  was  handing  over  to  him  the  fateful 
pieces  of  engraved  metal  which  had  once  stood  the 
end  and  object  of  all  that  pursuit.  Life,  he  told  him- 
self, did  not  resolve  itself  into  theatricalities  like 
this !  Somewhere  at  the  core  of  all  that  carefully 
carpentered  structure  was  the  canker  of  untruth. 

196 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  19T 

And  it  was  his  duty  to  break  down  her  arch  of  de- 
ception while  there  was  still  time. 

"  You  must  believe  me !  "  she  cried  out,  startled  by 
the  look  of  doubt  that  had  swept  over  his  face. 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"  Because  I  am  asking  you  to  help  me !  "  she  said 
with  a  forlornness  of  tone  which  touched  him 
even  against  his  will. 

"  But  how  can  I  do  that?  " 

"  By  letting  things  stand  as  they  are,"  was  her 
quick  retort.  "  By  dropping  this  persecution,  of  roe 
and  my  father  and  giving  me  the  chance  of  going  bock 
to  Europe ! " 

Kestner  was  watching  her  closely. 

"  Who  told  you  to  ask  for  this  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  am  asking  it  for  myself,"  was  her  reply.  "  And 
in  asking  it  I  can  give  you  the  promise  there  will  be 
no  need  for  further  action  on  your  part." 

"  By  that  you  mean  no  more  counterfeiting?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  can  you  answer  for  your  father,  and  for 
Morello,  when  you  venture  that  promise  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  answer  for  them,"  she  acknowledge^ 
as  she  looked  down  at  the  plates  on  her  knee.  Then 
she  turned  back  to  Kestner  again.  "  But,  don't  you 
see,  without  these  to  print  from  they  will  be  helpless. 
They  can't  carry  out  what  they  have  planned,  without 
plates.  And  without  me  they  can  never  make  more !  ** 

That,  at  least,  seemed  reasonable  enough. 

"  Then  what  must  I  do  ? "  inquired  the  Secret 
Agent. 

"  Let  me  get  away  from  all  this,"  was  her  answer. 


198  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

He  knew  that  any  such  cry  for  quarter,  from  that 
proud  spirit,  was  not  easy  of  utterance. 

"  But  it's  not  in  my  hands,"  he  protested.  "  I'm 
only  one  small  cog  in  the  wheels  of  a  huge  machine 
they  call  the  law." 

"  But  what  does  that  machine  gain  by  grinding  us 
down,  now?  What  good  can  it  do  you,  or  your  gov- 
ernment, or  the  whole  world,  if  you  keep  me  from 
going  back  to  the  decent  life  I  want  to  live  ?  " 

"  My  personal  feelings  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter.  Do  you  imagine  everything  that  has  hap- 
pened during  the  last  few  weeks  has  been  merely  a 
personal  matter  with  me?  That  I  haven't  been  driven 
into  doing  things  that  were  odious  to  me?  That  I 
haven't  always  wanted  to  save  you  from  what  was 
ahead  of  you?  " 

"  You  can  do  that,"  she  interrupted.  "  All  I  want 
is  the  chance  to  get  away,  to  save  myself  from  worse 
things  than  you  can  face  me  with!  And  you  won't 
even  believe  me !  " 

Kestner  sat  for  several  moments  without  speaking. 

"  You  must  rather  despise  me,"  he  ventured,  as  his 
meditative  eyes  met  hers. 

"  Not  so  much  as  I  despise  myself ! "  was  her 
slightly  embittered  answer.  "  And  I  don't  blame 
you  —  for  anything.  I  think  I  understand,  now. 
Sometimes  I've  been  almost  glad  that  you  were  doing 
what  you  were.  I  got  a  sort  of  relief  from  the 
thought  that  you  were  following  us,  every  move  we 
made.  I've  felt  safer,  lately,  remembering  you  were 
somewhere  near,  even  if  it  was  to  undo  everything  mj 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  199 

father  had  been  working  for.     But  when  I  saj  that, 
too,  you  can't  believe  me,  can  you?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  Kestner  admitted.  He  found 
himself  speaking  with  an  earnestness  of  which  on 
second  thought  he  felt  slightly  ashamed.  He  was 
still  torturing  his  soul  with  the  query  as  to  how  much 
of  all  she  said  was  genuine  and  how  much  was  trickery. 
He  could  indulge  in  none  of  the  exultation  of  a  com- 
batant who  finds  his  adversary  in  an  extremity.  Her 
predicament,  if  such  it  were,  brought  him  no  sense  of 
personal  triumph.  Yet  as  he  glanced  about  that 
dingy  and  disordered  room  and  then  back  at  the 
pale  oval  of  her  face  he  felt  reassured  of  the  fact  that 
she  was  ill-suited  to  the  setting  in  which  he  had  found 
her.  She  still  impressed  him  as  being  intrinsically  too 
fine  of  fibre  for  the  life  of  the  social  free-booter.  But 
he  could  not  forget  the  fact  that  she  was  Paul  Lam- 
bert's daughter  and  the  agent  through  whom  that 
master-criminal  had  planned  to  debauch  a  nation's 
currency. 

They  sat  there,  facing  each  other  in  one  of  those 
pregnant  silences  which  sometimes  come  when  wide 
issues  are  at  stake.  Kestner  remembered  that  she  was 
beleaguering  him  with  none  of  the  artifices  of  sex. 
There  was  something  almost  judicial  in  her  impassiv- 
ity, as  though  her  case  had  been  put  and  her  last  word 
had  been  said.  And  in  that  very  abnegation  of  ap- 
peal, he  felt,  she  was  circuitously  assailing  his  will  and 
breaking  down  his  resolution. 

She  must  have  caught  from  his  eyes  some  vague 
look  of  capitulation,  for  she  raised  her  head,  as  though 


200  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

to  speak  to  him.  But  she  did  not  open  her  lips,  and 
no  word  passed  between  them. 

For  at  that  moment  the  silence  was  broken  by  an- 
other and  a  quite  unexpected  sound.  It  came  in  the 
form  of  a  sudden  knock  on  the  door,  a  peremptory  and 
authoritative  knock  which  caused  Kestner's  figure  to 
stiffen  in  its  chair,  and  the  next  moment  brought  him, 
alert  and  tingling,  to  his  feet. 

He  did  not  look  at  the  door,  for  he  was  watching 
the  woman  before  whom  he  stood,  wondering  if  this 
marked  the  consummation  of  her  undeciphered  plan, 
speculating  as  to  what  his  next  step  should  be.  Then 
he  suddenly  remembered  the  messenger  boy  and  his 
undelivered  message.  Kestner  was  able  to  breathe 
more  freely.  It  left  him  with  still  a  shadow  of  hope 
as  to  her  integrity. 

He  could  see  her  as  she  sat  there,  with  her  gaze 
fixed  on  the  locked  door.  She  had  made  no  movement, 
and  she  had  not  changed  colour.  But  as  the  knock 
was  repeated,  more  peremptorily  than  before,  her 
whole  face  altered.  There  seemed  to  be  a  narrowing 
of  vision,  a  hardening  of  the  lines  about  the  sensitive 
mouth,  a  masking  of  the  spirit  which  a  moment  earlier 
had  stood  before  him,  like  an  open  book.  She  was 
running  truer  to  type,  he  felt,  in  that  newer  pose. 
It  was  a  nearer  approach  to  what  he  had  expected  of 
her. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  he  demanded  in  a  whisper. 

The  woman  sitting  in  the  chair  did  not  answer  him. 
But  she  made  a  quick  and  terrified  motion  for  silence. 
Then  she  rose  to  her  feet,  glancing  wide-eyed  about 
the  room. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL'  201 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  again  demanded  Kestner  as  he 
lifted  his  revolver  from  its  pocket. 

Still  she  did  not  answer  him.  But  a  look  of  mute 
protest  leaped  into  her  eyes  as  she  saw  his  fire-arm. 

"  Wait,"  she  implored  in  a  whisper.  She  gave  him 
the  impression  of  being  afraid  to  speak.  But  her 
eyes  seemed  to  appeal  to  him  for  help,  touched  with 
the  pathos  of  an  animal  to  whom  the  power  of  speech 
has  not  been  given.  And  for  a  moment,  in  the  teeth 
of  the  odds  that  were  against  her,  he  believed  in  her. 

"  Wait,"  she  whispered  again  as  she  pointed  to- 
wards the  door  of  the  dingy  little  bedroom  behind 
him.  He  understood  her  gesture.  But  for  a  mo- 
ment he  hesitated,  staring  down  into  her  face.  It 
was  quite  colourless,  by  this  time,  and  oddly  twisted, 
as  a  child's  face  is  sometimes  contorted  with  pain. 
But  her  hand  was  still  stretched  half-imploringly  to- 
wards that  dingy  room  in  the  rear. 

Then,  as  the  knock  was  repeated,  he  stepped  si- 
lently back  through  that  second  door,  with  his  hat  in 
one  hand  and  his  revolver  in  another.  Then  he 
quietly  closed  the  door  and  secured  it  by  the  heavy 
brass  bolt  which  he  found  on  the  inside.  At  the  same 
moment  he  heard  the  rustle  of  her  skirts  and  the  sound 
of  a  key  being  turned  in  the  lock.  He  had  no  time 
to  deliberate  on  the  fact  that  she  had  locked  him  in 
the  room  where  he  stood,  for  in  the  next  breath  he 
could  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice,  addressed  to  the 
impatient  knocker  at  the  outer  door. 

"  Just  a  moment,"  she  called  out  with  a  slightly  ris- 
ing inflection  which  gave  a  note  of  casualness  to  her 
cry.  And  Kestner,  crouching  behind  that  inner  door, 


could  easily  picture  how  desperately  she  was  re-mar- 
shalling the  scattered  lines  of  her  composure.  He 
could  hear  her  as  she  crossed  the  room  again.  He 
could  even  catch  the  sound  of  the  key  as  it  was  turned 
in  the  distant  lock. 

He  knew  the  door  had  been  opened,  but  no  sound 
reached  his  ears.  He  heard  the  thud  of  the  door  as 
it  was  swung  shut  again.  But  still  no  sound  of 
voices  came  to  the  listener  in  the  inner  room. 

That  listener  suddenly  caught  his  breath,  clasped 
his  hat  on  his  head,  and  swung  about.  For  a  moment 
the  suspicion  flashed  through  him  that  Maura  Lam- 
bert had  cleverly  given  him  the  slip.  His  fingers  were 
already  lifted  to  the  brass  draw-bolt  when  the  silence 
was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a  laugh,  an  open-throated 
and  deep-chested  laugh  of  mockery  that  was  not  pleas- 
ant to  hear.  Then  a  voice  spoke. 

"  You  are  not  glad  —  that  I  have  come !  " 

And  Kestner,  as  he  listened  there,  knew  that  the 
voice  was  the  voice  of  Morello. 


IT  was  by  no  means  a  feeling  of  fear  that  surged 
through  the  man  imprisoned  in  that  squalid  inner 
room  of  the  Alambo,  as  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  old- 
time  enemy.  It  was  more  an  incongruous  feeling  of 
deliverance,  of  relief  at  the  thought  that  Maura  Lam- 
bert had  not  as  yet  betrayed  him.  Then  he  stood 
again  listening,  for  the  sound  of  voices  was  once  more 
coming  from  the  outer  room. 

"  How  dare  you  come  here  ?  "  he  could  hear  the 
woman  demand. 

He  could  hear  Morello's  repeated  laugh  of  mockery, 
and  then  the  sound  of  the  Neapolitan's  voice.  It  was 
a  voice  to  which  little  of  its  native  colouring  still 
clung,  for  as  Kestner  had  so  often  remarked,  many 
years  in  America  had  robbed  his  speech  of  its  idiom, 
and  his  vocation  as  a  criminal  had  further  imposed 
on  him  the  necessity  of  denationalisation. 

"  I  can  come  anywhere  now,"  was  Morello's  care- 
less answer.  There  was  an  audacity  in  that  declara- 
tion which  seemed  new  to  the  man:  it  was  not  without 
its  effect  on  the  woman  confronting  him. 

"  But  what  right  have  you  to  come  here  ?  "  she 
repeated  in  a  voice  which  quavered  a  little,  in  spite 
of  herself. 

From   some  apartment  nearby  the   strident  notes 
203 


204  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

of  a  piano  struck  up,  as  a  vaudeville  team  settled  down 
to  determined  rehearsals  of  an  undetermined  rag- 
time hit.  Over  and  over  the  syncopated  music  was 
repeated,  providing  a  raucous  and  ceaseless  accom- 
paniment for  the  dialogue  taking  place  in  Number 
Seventeen.  That  tumult  of  sound  compelled  Kest- 
ner  to  place  his  ear  flat  against  the  panel  of  the  in- 
tervening door,  that  none  of  the  talk  might  escape 
him  in  the  general  din. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  keep  me  out?  "  he  could 
hear  Morello  demand.  And  again  there  was  the  sound 
of  the  full-throated  laugh,  but  this  time  it  was  quite 
without  mirth. 

"  You  have  been  drinking ! "  proclaimed  the  ac- 
cusatory voice  of  the  woman. 

"  Have  I?  "  was  the  heavy  retort  of  her  tormentor. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  stepped  closer  to  her.  "  And 
what  if  I  have?  When  I  want  a  thing,  I  get  it." 

"  Tony !  "  cried  the  reed-like  voice  of  the  other,  in 
sharp  command. 

"  Bah !  "  cried  back  the  scoffing  voice.  "  Do  not 
talk  to  me  as  though  I  were  a  child.  The  time  for 
that  is  over !  " 

"  And  the  time  for  this  sort  of  nonsense  is  over," 
countered  the  woman.  She  had  backed  away  from  him, 
apparently,  and  was  standing  quite  close  to  the  bed- 
room door.  Kestner,  in  the  brief  lapse  of  silence  that 
followed,  could  catch  the  sound  of  her  breathing. 
Then  the  neighbouring  piano  struck  up  a  louder  tu- 
mult and  he  could  hear  only  Morello's  voice  again. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  get  away  from  me  ?  "  the 
Neapolitan  was  saying.  "  No,  signorita,  it  is  too  late 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  205 

in  the  game  for  that!  You  are  one  of  us,  and  you 
will  stay  one  of  us  always !  " 

"  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  what  I  am,  or  what 
I  intend  to  be,"  was  Maura  Lambert's  defiant  retort. 

"  No,  that  is  already  settled.  You  cannot  get  away 
from  that,  any  more  than  you  can  get  away  from  me. 
You  came  here,  thinking  I  would  not  find  you.  And 
the  next  morning  I  am  here.  And  on  still  the  next 
morning  I  will  be  here !  " 

Kestner  found  himself  unable  to  combat  the  sense 
of  uneasiness  which  rose  like  a  chilling  tide  through 
his  indignant  body.  Here  was  a  force  that  was  ele- 
mental in  its  primitiveness,  that  could  not  be  com- 
bated by  the  ordinary  movements  of  life.  And  be- 
cause of  that  very  primitiveness  it  would  always  prove 
doubly  perilous.  It  seemed  to  reduce  everything  to 
the  plane  of  the  brute.  It  was  as  disconcerting  as 
the  discovery  of  a  tigress  patrolling  a  city  street. 
It  was  a  padded  Hunger  which  could  be  checkmated 
only  by  a  force  as  feral  as  its  own. 

"  My  father  would  kill  you  for  this !  "  he  could 
hear  the  frightened  girl  cry  out.  And  the  next  mo- 
ment he  could  hear  Morello's  laugh  of  careless  dis- 
dain. 

"  He  would  kill  me,  would  he  ?  And  two  days 
ago  he  sent  me  to  you,  and  said  just  what  I  have  said 
to-day!" 

"  That  is  a  lie ! "  Maura  Lambert  called  out. 
"  You  know  what  happened  to  Ferrone,  two  winters 
ago  in  Capri!  He  talked  that  way,  and  he  went  to 
Corfu  with  a  bullet  in  his  arm!  And  when  Shoen- 
bein  insisted  on  insulting  me,  as  you  are  doing,  my 


206  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

father  followed  him  to  Abbazzia  and  he  was  in  the 
hospital  at  Fiume  for  over  three  weeks !  " 

"  Yes,"  mocked  Morello,  "  he  watched  over  you 
then,  because  you  were  of  use  to  him.  He  watched 
over  you  the  same  as  a  circus  manager  watches  over 
an  animal  in  a  cage!  Oh,  yes,  he  took  good  care  of 
you  —  the  same  care  that  a  track-racer  takes  of  his 
horse!  He  took  care  of  you  because  he  had  use  for 
you.  He  kept  others  away  so  that  you  could  serve 
him  and  his  ends.  He  put  you  in  a  cage,  and  fed  you 
and  kept  you  warm.  He  taught  you  the  tricks  he 
needed.  He  decked  you  out  in  fine  feathers  and  let 
you  idle  about  in  soft  places  —  but  he  did  that  be- 
cause it  paid  him  to  do  it!  And  it  paid  him  to  see 
that  you  were  always  alone,  and  he  kept  you  always 
alone!" 

"  That's  not  true !  You  know  it's  not  true !  He 
kept  my  life  clean,  he  kept  it  decent,  no  matter  what 
it  cost,  because  he  was  my  father  and  he  cared  for 
me!" 

"  How  much  has  he  cared? "  demanded  Morello. 
"  The  same  as  a  crook  cares  for  his  capper !  The 
same  as  a  rabbit-hunter  cares  for  his  ferret !  And 
when  he  thinks  you  cannot  be  of  use  to!  him,  he  will 
drop  you,  the  same  as  he  would  drop  an  old  shoe !  " 

Kestner  had  to  strain  his  ear  to  catch  the  girl's 
answer  above  the  din  of  the  piano-pounding  in  the 
nearby  apartment. 

"  That  is  my  father  you  are  speaking  of,"  he  could 
hear  the  quavering  voice  reply,  and  it  rose  in  pitch 
as  the  phrase  was  repeated,  "  my  father  —  do  you 
hear!" 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  207 

Still  again  the  sound  of  Morello's  heavy  laughter 
filled  the  outer  room. 

"  So  he's  your  father,"  he  scoffed.  "  Then  I  call 
him  a  fine  kind  of  a  father!  Ha,  a  fine  father,  wasn't 
he,  to  take  all  those  years  to  train  you  as  a  forger! 
A  fine  father  to  take  a  young  girl  and  show  her  the 
secrets  of  counterfeiting,  and  keep  her  at  it,  until  she 
was  the  best  steel-engraver  in  the  business !  He  was  a 
kind  man,  was  he  not,  to  take  you  out  of  a  convent, 
when  he  found  you  were  clever  with  a  pen  and  brush, 
and  put  you  to  copying  postage-stamps  and  Austrian 
bank-notes  and  let  you  think  it  was  for  museum  ex- 
hibitions! That  was  a  fine  trick,  was  it  not?  Ha, 
and  he  was  a  fine  father  when  he  tried  to  match  you 
off  with  that  check-forger  named  Carlesi,  that  smooth- 
tongued cut-throat  who  had  swindled  his  way  from 
Messina  to  Berlin  and  back  before  you  had  stopped 
playing  with  your  dolls !  Ah,  I  see  you  remember 
Carlesi!" 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  of  this !  "  cried 
the  girl.  "  I  can't  listen  to  — " 

"  But  you  must  hear  more  of  this,"  contended  the 
other,  losing  himself  more  and  more  in  that  fiery  tor- 
rent of  words  as  he  went  on.  "  And  you  are  going 
to  hear  it  now.  I,  myself,  Antonio  Morello,  have 
something  to  say  about  that.  Carlesi  you  remember, 
yes,  and  you  will  never  forget  him.  This  man  you 
call  your  father  said  you  should  marry  him  —  you, 
a  girl  of  eighteen  and  Carlesi  already  hunted  out  of 
Berne  and  Vienna  and  Budapest  by  the  police!  Do 
you  know  'why  he  planned  that  marriage?  I  will  tell 
you  why.  He  saw  he  was  losing  his  hold  over  you, 


208  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

and  he  was  afraid.  He  needed  you  in  his  work.  He 
had  spent  years  in  making  you  what  you  were.  But 
he  saw  you  were  beginning  to  be  restless,  that  your 
heart  was  not  at  rest,  that  you  might  break  away 
from  him!  And  he  wanted  to  tie  you  down,  for  his 
own  use.  He  wanted  to  chain  you  to  where  he  had 
placed  you,  the  same  as  a  dog  is  tied  to  its  kennel. 
And  Carlesi  was  to  be  the  chain  to  hold  you 
there ! " 

"  That  is  not  true !  "  half  moaned  the  girl. 

"  Ha,  so  it  is  not  true  ?  And  it  is  not  true,  that 
night  in  Perugia,  in  the  villa  where  by  chance  you 
found  the  first  printing-press?  That  night  when 
Carlesi  tried  to  come  through  the  window,  after  you 
had  quarrelled  with  him  in  the  garden.  That  was 
your  father's  villa,  on  that  night,  and  Carlesi  could 
never  have  come  to  that  window  without  your  father's 
consent.  No,  this  fine  father  of  yours  knew  what 
Carlesi  was  going  to  do.  That  was  part  of  the  plan. 
But  you  shot  Carlesi  as  he  pushed  his  way  in  through 
the  window.  Ah,  you  remember  that  too !  You  shot 
him,  through  the  curtains,  and  he  fell  back  into  the 
garden.  That  was  something  which  this  man  Lam- 
bert had  not  looked  for.  It  changed  his  plans.  But 
it  did  not  end  them.  He  was  too  clever  for  that !  " 

"  I  will  not  listen,"  cried  the  desperate  girl.  "  I 
will  not  listen  to  this !  " 

"  You  must  listen.  For  it  is  time  you  heard  these 
things.  You  killed  Carlesi.  And  he  fell  into  the  gar- 
den, and  your  father  took  care  of  the  body.  He  cov- 
ered up  the  crime  and  promised  that  no  one  should 
know.  It  took  much  money.  That  was  explained  to 


THE  HAND  OF  PEREC  209 

you,  and  that  was  why,  the  next  day,  you  forged  the 
signatures  to  the  Paris  Electric  certificates  which  had 
been  stolen  a  month  before.  Lambert  knew,  then, 
that  he  had  you  under  his  thumb.  You  had  killed  a 
man,  and  no  one  must  know.  It  was  the  secret  be- 
tween you  and  your  father.  It  was  the  chain  that 
held  you  down.  And  Carlesi  dead  was  worth  even 
more  to  him  than  Carlesi  alive ! " 

"  Oh,  don't  —  don't !  "  half  sobbed  the  girl.  "  Don't 
go  on  with  this !  " 

But  Morello  was  not  to  be  stopped. 

"  You  killed  Carlesi.  You  leaned  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  saw  your  father  carry  the  body  away.  You 
saw  it,  with  your  own  eyes.  But  you  did  not  see 
everything.  You  did  not  see  where  he  was  taken. 
You  did  not  see  that  he  was  still  alive,  and  that  in 
three  weeks'  time  he  was  given  four  thousand  lira  on 
condition  that  he  go  to  America  and  never  be  seen 
back  in  Italy !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  gasped  the  breath- 
less girl. 

"  I  mean  what  I  have  said.  You  did  not  kill  Car- 
lesi. It  was  this  fine  father  of  yours  who  lied  to 
you,  who  made  you  think  you  had  murdered  a  man ! " 

"  This  can't  be  true  —  it  can't ! " 

"  I  can  prove  it  is  true.  I  can  bring  this  man 
Carlesi  to  you,  and  then  you  will  know.  He  will  point 
out  the  bullet-wound,  with  his  own  finger.  Then  you 
will  understand  who  the  liar  is ! " 

The  girl's  voice  was  so  quiet  that  the  listening 
Kestner  could  scarcely  catch  her  next  words  as  she 
spoke. 


210  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  My  father  would  never  lie  to  me  like  that !  He 
would  never  do  that ! " 

It  was  then  that  Morello  exploded  his  final  dev- 
astating truth  at  her. 

"  Your  father !  "  he  cried.  "  He  is  no  more  your 
father  than  I  am!  " 


XI 

KESTNER,  as  he  stood  there  leaning  against  the 
faded  panel  of  that  locked  door  which  separated  him 
from  those  passionately  contending  voices,  retained 
little  memory  of  where  he  was.  He  had  forgotten  the 
Alambo  and  its  unsavoury  warrens,  he  had  forgotten 
the  dingy  gaiety  of  the  crimson-papered  bedroom  be- 
hind him,  he  had  forgotten  the  fusillade  of  ragtime 
piano-music,  melancholy  in  its  constant  reiterations, 
which  assailed  his  ears.  He  no  longer  remembered 
just  why  he  was  there.  He  was  unconscious  even  of 
the  ignominy  of  his  position,  of  his  eavesdropper's 
attitude  behind  a  closed  door,  where  he  crouched  with 
twitching  nerves  along  his  body  and  beads  of  sweat 
on  his  forehead. 

All  he  heard  and  comprehended  were  those  words  of 
Morello's  —  the  words  which  seemed  to  solve  at  one 
stroke  the  enigma  of  Maura  Lambert's  life.  They 
flashed  light  into  the  deepest  corner  of  a  mystery 
which  from  the  first  he  had  been  unable  to  explain  or 
explore.  They  brought  to  him  a  sudden  yet  unde- 
cipherable sense  of  elation.  They  not  only  carried 
with  them  a  readjustment  of  the  entire  case,  but  also 
the  consciousness  that  his  interest  in  the  career  of 
this  girl,  who  had  been  driven  into  crime  under  com- 
pulsion, was  more  than  a  professional  interest.  And 

211 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

he  did  not  lament  the  discovery.  It  left  him  with 
something  to  live  for,  something  to  work  for. 

But  Kestner  could  give  no  further  thought  to  the 
matter,  for  the  girl  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  was 
already  speaking  again.  The  timbre  of  her  voice  had 
altered.  It  seemed  touched  with  fear,  and  at  the 
same  time  with  exaltation.  It  carried,  even  above  the 
trivial  noises  of  that  sordid  rookery  of  sordid  lives, 
the  note  of  a  soul  which  found  itself  confronted  by 
issues  wider  than  it  could  understand. 

"That  can't  be  true!"  she  half-sobbed.  "It 
can't!" 

"  You  do  not  believe  ?  No !  That  is  natural," 
Morello  cried  back  at  her.  "  They  have  made  all 
your  life  a  lie.  But  when  I  show  you  Carlesi,  face  to 
face,  will  you  believe  ?  " 

"  I  can't  believe  it !  "  Yet  for  all  that  protest  her 
voice  carried  a  note  of  tremulous  rhapsody  which  even 
Kestner  could  detect.  And  Morello,  glorying  in  the 
discovery  that  he  was  upsetting  her  world  about  her, 
that  he  was  leaving  her  nothing  stable,  nothing  on 
which  to  rely,  let  the  tide  of  his  grim  purpose  carry 
him  along. 

"  You  will  come  with  me,  and  then  you  will  know. 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  believe.  You  will  see,  with  your 
own  eyes.  And  then  you  will  know.  You  will  know 
what  I  know,  that  Paul  Lambert  is  not  your  father, 
that  he  robbed  your  father  in  Civitavecchia  when  he 
went  there  dying  of  Roman  fever.  Lambert  had  been 
sent  there  from  Paris,  to  steal  maps  of  the  fort.  But 
instead  of  stealing  the  maps,  he  stole  you.  He  saw 
you  were  a  clever  child  and  that  he  could  make  use  of 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  213 

you.  He  took  you  to  a  convent  in  Switzerland. 
You  will  remember  that.  And  when  he  took  you  out 
of  that  convent  he  began  training  you  for  his  work. 
Already  he  was  a  forger,  yes,  a  good  forger.  He 
forged  the  papers  in  which  you  always  believed,  the 
papers  about  yourself.  Then  you  know  what  he  did. 
You  know  how  he  — " 

Kestner,  straining  to  catch  every  word,  heard 
Morello's  voice  trail  off  into  sudden  silence.  In  that 
silence,  for  a  second  or  two,  he  could  hear  nothing  but 
the  stridently  muffled  notes  of  the  distant  piano  and 
the  far-away  rattle  and  clank  of  an  elevator  door- 
grill  as  it  slid  shut  on  its  runway.  Then  he  caught 
the  unmistakable  sound  of  a  woman's  gasp  of  terror 
and  surprise. 

Immediately  following  that  strange  gasp  came  an- 
other sound,  the  sound  of  a  newer  and  deeper  voice 
sounding  in  the  room  just  beyond  the  locked  door. 

"  You  welcher ! "  boomed  out  that  sterner  and 
harsher  voice.  And  the  cry  was  repeated,  slowly  and 
deliberately,  but  in  a  tone  even  more  passionate. 
"  You  dirty  welcher !  " 

Kestner  could  see  nothing  of  what  had  taken  place 
or  was  then  taking  place.  But  as  he  heard  that  voice 
he  knew  it  was  Lambert  himself  speaking,  Lambert 
who  must  have  stepped  quietly  into  the  room  while 
the  Neapolitan  was  pouring  out  his  volcanic  utter- 
ances to  the  bewildered  woman  in  front  of  him.  And 
the  sudden  realisation  of  what  Lambert's  intrusion 
meant  at  such  a  moment  brought  a  tingle  of  nerves 
needling  up  and  down  the  backbone  of  the  intently 
listening  Kestner. 


214  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

He  waited  there,  motionless  and  breathless,  as  that 
silence  of  only  a  few  seconds  prolonged  itself  into 
something  which  to  his  straining  nerves  seemed  almost 
interminable. 

Then,  above  the  din  of  the  Alambo's  many  activi- 
ties, came  still  another  sound.  It  was  not  loud.  It 
was  a  sound  not  unlike  that  of  one  board  being 
dropped  flat  on  another,  or  of  two  books  being  slapped 
together  to  rid  them  of  dust. 

It  was  a  sound  that  might  have  been  accepted  as  the 
distant  explosion  of  gases  in  the  exhaust  of  a  back- 
firing automobile,  or,  to  the  uninitiated  ear,  as  the 
quick  slam  of  a  door.  But  to  Kestner  it  meant  some- 
thing quite  different.  It  was  a  sound  which  he  had 
heard  on  more  than  one  occasion,  and  always  with 
a  feeling  of  nettling  nerve-ends. 

Almost  before  the  meaning  of  that  sound  had  fully 
registered  itself  on  his  startled  consciousness  there 
was  a  second  and  less  determinate  sound.  The  floor 
under  Kestner's  feet  quivered  a  little  with  the  con- 
cussion of  some  sudden  weight  imposed  upon  it. 

But  the  Secret  Agent  no  longer  stood  there  inac- 
tive. That  tell-tale  thud  brought  his  hand  up  to  the 
brass  draw-bolt.  Even  when  this  was  released,  how- 
ever, he  found  the  door  still  locked.  He  could  not  dis- 
tinctly remember  whether  he  cried  out  or  not.  But 
he  at  least  knew  that  he  was  struggling  and  straining 
ineffectually  against  a  locked  door,  and  losing  valu- 
able time. 

Then  he  wheeled  about  and  ran  back  into  the  cen- 
tre of  the  room.  There  he  caught  up  a  slattern- 
cushioned  arm-chair,  letting  the  cushions  fall  about 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

him  as  he  raised  it  high  above  his  head.  Then,  swing- 
ing back  to  the  locked  door,  he  brought  the  chair- 
legs  with  a  shattering  crash  against  the  faded  panels. 
That  quick  blow  splintered  the  edge  of  the  door,  break- 
ing away  the  mortised  lock  and  leaving  it  free  to 
swing  outward  into  the  next  room. 

Kestner,  dropping  the  chair,  stepped  into  that  next 
room. 

On  the  floor,  half-way  between  the  bedroom  and  the 
opened  door  leading  to  the  hall,  lay  Morello.  He  lay 
on  his  back,  with  either  arm  thrown  out  at  right  angles 
to  his  body,  in  the  form  of  a  cross. 

Kestner  stooped  over  him.  There  was  a  small  blue 
hole  in  the  man's  forehead,  just  above  the  nose-bridge 
where  the  black-haired  eye-brows  met,  and  from  the 
back  of  the  head  the  skull  had  been  blown  entirely 
away.  And  in  the  meantime  the  rhapsodic  rag-time 
Saturnalia  of  sound  went  on  in  its,  nearby  room  un- 
interrupted. 

Kestner  stepped  to  the  hall  door  and  shut  and 
locked  it.  Then  he  picked  up  the  revolver  which  Lam- 
bert must  have  thrown  back  into  the  room  as  he  fled. 
The  Secret  Agent's  fingers  were  a  little  unsteady  as 
from  force  of  habit  he  examined  this  revolver  and 
found  the  cartridge  of  one  chamber  empty.  But  he 
dropped  the  fire-arm,  without  emotion,  close  beside 
Morello's  outstretched  right  hand.  Then  he  peered 
quickly  and  inquiringly  about  the  room. 

The  package  of  plates  was  no  longer  there.  On  the 
floor  was  the  piece  of  green  baize  in  which  they  had 
been  wrapped,  but  the  delicately  chased  oblongs  of 
metal  were  gone.  Gone  too  was  the  travelling-bag 


and  the  hat  and  gloves  which  had   stood  beside  it. 

And  with  them,  Kestner  suddenly  realised,  Maura 
Lambert  had  once  more  slipped  away  from  him. 

He  was  not  so  troubled  by  the  thought  that  Lam- 
bert also  had  made  his  escape.  A  getaway  such  as 
that  was  only  the  fortune  of  war,  a  reverse  to  be 
atoned  for  by  other  movements  on  other  days. 

But  the  memory  of  what  had  so  recently  taken  place 
in  that  dingy-walled  room,  and  the  thought  that  now 
of  all  times  he  could  be  of  help  to  the  girl  so  sorely 
in  need  of  that  help,  carried  him  across  the  room  and 
down  the  many-odoured  hall  to  the  elevator. 

The  car  rose  to  his  floor,  in  response  to  his  frantic 
pushes  on  the  bell-button.  A  second  later  he  was 
shooting  down  towards  the  office. 

"  Did  a  tall  man  and  a  girl  with  a  leather  bag  go 
down  here  a  moment  ago  ?  "  Kestner  asked  the  close- 
cropped  negro-boy  operating  the  car.  That  youth's 
heavily  impersonal  face  lightened  into  sudden  interest 
as  he  felt  a  coin  pressed  into  his  hand. 

"  Yas,  sah,  dat  young  woman  wen'  down  about  two 
minutes  ago !  But  th'  tall  gen'elmun,  I  see  him  go 
down  by  th'  sta'ahs,  sah,  on  de  up  trip  w'en  de  woman 
rung  f 'r  me,  sah !  " 

"  Was  he  hurrying?  " 

"  Yas,  sah  —  he  was  trabbelin',  all  right !  " 

Kestner  stepped  from  the  elevator-car  to  the  office- 
desk.  A  pale-eyed  clerk,  with  a  head  as  bare  as  a 
billiard-ball,  was  leisurely  re-addressing  a  heterogene- 
ous pile  of  mail-matter. 

Beside  this  mail-matter  Kestner  placed  a  card  on 
which  he  had  scribbled  his  name  and  address. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL'  217 

"  I  think  you  had  better  call  a  policeman,"  he  said 
to  the  pale-eyed  clerk,  still  bent  over  his  letters.  "  A 
man  has  just  been  murdered  in  Number  Seventeen!" 

The  shining  bald  dome  moved  upward  with  incredi- 
ble rapidity. 

"  A  man's  been  what?  "  he  vacuously  demanded. 

"  If  you  want  me  later  ring  me  up,"  cried  back 
Kestner  as  he  made  for  the  door  of  the  Alambo. 

Outside  that  door  his  quick  eye  fell  on  Wilsnach 
himself.  His  colleague  of  the  Service  was  holding 
by  the  arm  a  small  and  vigorously  protesting  mes- 
senger-boy. 

"  There's  th'  guy  I  want ! "  was  that  youth's  tri- 
umphant cry  as  Kestner  made  a  spring  for  them. 

"  What's  wrong  here  ? "  barked  out  the  Secret 
Agent. 

"  This  gink's  tryin'  to  butt  into  my  business.  He 
comes  up  on  th'  run  an'  grabs  me  after  I  hand  over 
that  message  o'  yours !  " 

*'  Where  did  you  hand  it  ?  " 

"  W'y,  to  th'  dame  herself  as  she  hops  into  a  taxi 
an'  beats  it  for  Broadway  without  even  waitin'  to  sign 
for  it!" 

Kestner  wheeled  about  and  stared  eastward.  There 
was  no  taxi  in  sight. 

"  Was  she  alone  ?  "  was  his  next  quick  query. 

"Yep!" 

"  Not  with  a  tall  man  of  about  fifty?  " 

"  Oh,  that  ol'  guy  grabbed  th'  first  taxi  an'  got 
away  as  though  he  was  answerin'  a  three-alarm  call. 
That  was  b'fore  ths  dame  wit*  th'  bag  come  out  o'  the 
hotel!" 


218  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  We're  too  late !  "  gasped  Kestner. 

He  suddenly  turned  about  and  caught  Wilsnach 
by  the  coat  sleeve. 

"  You  got  that  man  Carlesi?  "  he  demanded.  And 
his  heart  went  down  as  he  read  the  answer  on  Wils- 
nach's  somewhat  bewildered  face,  even  before  his  lips 
spoke  the  words. 

"  I  thought  I  had  him  cornered,  but  he  gave  me  the 
slip!" 

Kestner's  hand  dropped. 

"  O  God,  what  a  mess  for  one  morning ! "  he 
breathed  aloud. 

Wilsnach  stepped  back  a  little  and  stared  at  his 
superior.  It  was  not  often  that  Kestner  lapsed  into 
emotionalism  over  trivialities. 

"  But  this  man  Carlesi  is  only  small  potatoes," 
argued  Wilsnach.  "  He's  nothing  but  — " 

"  Never  mind  what  he  is,"  cut  in  Kestner,  "  we've 
got  to  get  that  man  if  it  takes  us  round  the  world ! " 


PART  V 
THE  QUARTERS  ON  THE  RIVER 


KESTNER  sat  in  a  brown  study.  It  was  three  full 
hours  since  the  murder  of  Antonio  Morello  in  the 
Alambo.  Not  a  word  had  as  yet  come  in  to  him,  and 
here  was  a  situation,  he  knew,  where  time  was  precious. 

On  the  rosewood  table  in  front  of  Kestner  lay  what 
was  left  of  his  third  cigar.  About  his  feet  was  a  scat- 
tering1 of  ashes,  the  residuary  evidence  of  an  hour's 
Vesuvian  mental  ferment.  Confronting  him  on  the 
polished  table-top,  not  unlike  huge  pawns  on  an  aban- 
doned chessboard,  stood  three  telephone  transmitters. 
Two  of  them  were  Kestner's  recently  installed  private 
wires.  The  third  was  the  switch-board  connection  of 
the  hotel  itself. 

Kestner  sat  between  those  transmitters,  momen- 
tarily undecided  as  to  what  the  next  move  should  be. 
He  sat  where  those  wires  converged,  waiting,  like  a 
spider  at  the  centre  of  its  web.  Yet  for  all  the  in- 
tricate network  of  espionage  that  had  been  so  fever- 
ishly and  yet  so  dexterously  thrown  out  across  the 
City,  no  slightest  word  of  value  had  trickled  in  to  him. 
He  was  still  hesitating  between  the  house-connection 
and  his  second  private  wire  when  the  brisk  tinkle  of 
a  bell  brought  an  end  to  his  indecision. 

He  caught  up  the  receiver  on  his  left  and  found 
JVilsnach  on  the  wire. 

"  We've    got     something,"     announced    Wilsnach. 

"Can  I  talk?" 

221 


222  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"Talk  away!" 

"  We  haven't  a  trace  of  the  woman  yet,"  began 
Wilsnach. 

"  What  woman  ?  "  angrily  demanded  Kestner.  He 
always  hated  the  other  man  when  he  spoke  of  Maura 
Lambert  as  a  Bertillon  exhibit,  and  there  were  times 
when  he  half-suspected  Wilsnach's  knowledge  of  that 
feeling. 

"  The  scratcher  for  that  Lambert  gang,"  was  the 
none  too  placatory  response  over  the  wire.  But  time 
was  too  precious  for  personal  issues. 

"  We  can  find  that  woman  best  by  first  finding  Car- 
lesi.  I've  already  told  you  that." 

"  But  she's  the  king-pin  of  those  counterfeiters. 
She's  the  one  we've  got  to  get ! " 

"  And  she's  the  one  we'll  get  the  easiest  —  when  the 
time  comes ! " 

"  Well,  Carlesi  shouldn't  be  hard.  Romano  has 
just  phoned  me  that  one  of  his  men  has  spotted  Car- 
lesi." 

"Spotted  him?" 

"  Yes,  and  tailed  him  to  a  shooting-gallery." 

"Where?" 

"  Down  on  the  East  River  water-front." 

"  And  he's  there  now  ?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

"  As  far  as  I  know,"  was  the  answer.  "  He'll  be 
easy  to  find.  A  middle-aged  Dago,  stoop-shouldered, 
with  granulated  eye-lids." 

"But  why  a  shooting-gallery?" 

"  That  they  can't  say  until  some  one  gets  inside. 
And  they  waited  for  word  from  you." 

"  Good ! " 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  223 

"  There's  only  one  thing  more,  Romano  says.  What 
looks  like  a  bundle  of  bond  paper  was  delivered  there 
a  few,  minutes  after  Carlesi  went  in." 

"  That's  important.  Now  describe  that  shooting- 
gallery  to  me,  and  tell  me  just  where  it  is." 

Kestner  listened  intently  as  Wilsnach  told  what  he 
knew  of  the  place.  Then  the  Secret  Agent  glanced 
down  at  his  watch. 

"  I  think  I  can  be  inside  that  gallery  in  an  hour's 
time.  Meanwhile,  you  have  Romano  run  down  the 
Lambert  taxi  number.  Put  Schmidt  on  it  too,  if 
nothing  turns  up  in  an  hour.  I've  phoned  Hendry 
to  have  all  trains  and  ferries  covered,  and  the  City 
staff  people  are  watching  the  bridges  and  motor- 
routes.  We  can't  afford  to  let  that  man  Lambert  get 
off  the  Island." 

"  You  mean  if  he  gets  going,  now,  he'll  never 
stop?" 

"  Murder  in  the  first  degree  can  make  a  man  travel 
a  long  way,  Wilsnach.  And  we've  done  enough  trav- 
elling on  this  case." 

"  And  you'll  cover  Carlesi  and  the  gallery  alone  ?  " 

"  I'll  attend  to  Carlesi.  But  post  a  man  to  tail 
him,  in  case  he  tries  to  move  on  before  I  get  there. 
Get  a  man  who'd  know  Lambert  if  he  saw  him." 

"Lambert?" 

"  Yes  ;  either  Lambert  or  Maura  Lambert  are  going 
to  get  in  touch  with  Carlesi  as  soon  as  they  safely  can. 
Perhaps  Lambert's  already  seen  him.  It's  ten  to  one 
the  girl  will  try  to.  And  that's  why  I'm  going  to 
cover  Carlesi." 

"  All  right  —  I  understand." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  And  in  case  of  doubt,  report  to  Hendry  by  wire." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Wilsnach. 

"  And  as  soon  as  you're  free,  yourself,  get  around  to 
that  shooting-gallery.  I  may  need  you." 

"  I'll  be  there,"  said  the  ever-dependable  Wilsnach, 
as  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 


n 

IT  WAS  exactly  one  hour  later  that  Kestner  stopped 
his  taxi-cab  on  a  side-street  sloping  down  to  the  East 
River  water-front.  He  was  apparelled  in  a  suit  of 
rusty  brown,  purchased  from  a  Seventh  Avenue  second- 
hand man,  a  pair  of  square-toed  tan  shoes  that  had 
both  seen  better  days  and  been  made  for  larger  feet, 
and  a  weather-stained  felt  hat  with  an  oily  sweat- 
band  and  a  sagging  brim. 

He  slackened  his  pace  a  little  as  he  turned  the  cor- 
ner, leisurely  rolling  a  Durham  cigarette  and  as  leis- 
urely returning  the  cotton  pouch  to  his  coat-pocket. 
He  stared  indolently  and  irresolutely  about  him,  as  he 
stood  opposite  the  shooting-gallery  window.  Then 
he  shuffled  by,  hesitated,  and  finally  swung  back  in  his 
tracks.  But-  during  every  moment  of  that  apparent 
aimlessness  he  was  carefully  inspecting  his  ground. 

As  he  shuffled  into  the  gallery  itself  he  found  it 
comparatively  deserted,  steeped  in  the  lull  of  its  mid- 
afternoon  quietness.  Yet  he  stood  puffing  his  ciga- 
rette, lethargically  watching  two  youths  in  sailor 
blouses  as  they  shot  at  a  glass  ball  dancing  at  the 
summit  of  a  fountain  spray.  They  were  shooting 
desultorily,  and  with  comments  of  ribald  disgust.  So 
Kestner  sank  into  one  of  the  four  red-armed  chairs 

ranged  in  front   of  the   street-window.     From  that 

225 


226  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

point  of  vantage  he  stared  casually  and  dreamily  about 
him. 

He  found  himself  confronted  by  a  long  and  rather 
low-ceilinged  room,  filled  with  the  drifting  fumes  of 
gun-oil  and  tobacco  and  smokeless  cartridges.  Across 
the  front  of  this  room  ran  a  counter,  with  a  hinge-top 
at  one  end,  and  at  the  other  an  orderly  row  of  waiting 
fire-arms. 

Behind  this  counter  stood  an  anaemic  and  sallow- 
faced  youth  of  about  twenty,  languidly  passing  the 
blade  of  a  broken-handled  razor  along  the  face  of  an 
oil-covered  hone.  About  that  youth  Kestner  could 
find  little  that  was  worthy  of  attention.  But  he  let 
no  movement  of  the  sallow-faced  boy  escape  him. 

Beyond  the  counter-top  were  the  targets,  white- 
painted  discs  of  metal,  a  row  of  clay  pipes  illuminated 
by  unseen  electric-bulbs,  and  a  further  row  of  diminu- 
tive white  ducks  which  travelled  on  an  endless  chain 
across  a  dusky  and  well-devised  background,  a  cease- 
less, hurrying  procession  ceaselessly  inviting  the  skill 
of  the  most  casual  visitor.  A  more  remote  target 
stood  at  the  end  of  a  galvanised  iron  tube,  and  along 
one  side  of  this  narrow  tube  ran  a  hemp  rope  connect- 
ing with  a  whitening  brush  on  a  pivot. 

It  was  not  until  the  two  sea-faring  youths  put  down 
their  rifles,  relighted  their  stogies,  and  wandered  on 
to  other  diversions,  that  Kestner  languidly  rose  from 
his  chair  and  advanced  to  the  gun-counter.  As  he 
did  so  the  sallow-faced  youth  pulled  the  hemp  rope 
and  rewhitened  the  tunnel  target,  switched  on  the 
lights  which  illuminated  his  crowded  parliament  of 
targets,  and  went  on  with  his  honing. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  227 

Kestner  threw  down  a  quarter  and  picked  up  a  rifle. 
As  he  took  deliberate  aim  at  one  of  the  moving  white 
ducks  he  noticed  that  a  door  in  the  side-wall  to  the 
left  had  opened  and  another  man  had  stepped  into  the 
room.  And  Kestner's  interest  in  that  gallery  immedi- 
ately increased. 

He  fired  and  saw  a  duck  go  down.  Then  he  turned 
and  glanced  sleepily  at  the  newcomer.  It  would  have 
taken  a  keen  eye  to  discern  any  interest  or  any  altera- 
tion in  that  look.  The  change  was  there,  however, 
for  at  a  glance  the  man  in  the  rusty  brown  clothes  had 
realised  that  the  intruder  was  not  Carlesi. 

Yet  this  intruder  was  not  without  his  points  of  in- 
terest. He  appeared  to  be  a  rotund  and  square-shoul- 
dered and  small-eyed  man  of  about  forty-five,  with  a 
skin  so  oddly  weather-reddened  that  its  colour  seemed 
to  have  been  deepened  with  brick-dust.  His  wide- 
brimmed  Stetson  hat  was  stained  with  sweat,  and  from 
one  corner  of  the  full-blooded  thick  lips  drooped  a 
green  Havana  cheroot. 

Kestner,  as  he  tried  for  another  duck  and  sent  it 
over,  conceded  there  was  both  audacity  and  authority 
in  that  figure  with  the  brick-dust  skin  and  the  alert 
little  eyes.  And  Kestner,  as  he  aimed  for  a  bull's-eye 
and  missed  by  a  bare  inch,  wondered  just  what  that  pic- 
turesque newcomer's  business  could  be,  and  just  what 
connection  he  could  have  with  Carlesi  and  a  bundle  of 
bond-paper. 

But  curiosity  did  not  deter  Kestner  from  his  target 
practice.  He  remembered,  as  he  tried  again  for  the 
nearest  bull's-eye  and  rang  the  bell,  his  long  months  of 
rifle  and  revolver  work,  his  early  pistol-drill  as  a  police 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  rookie,"  his  idle  weeks  and  weeks  of  shooting  at  the 
Monte  Carlo  pigeons.  He  had  always  been  proud  of 
his  gun-work.  But  his  aim  would  have  been  more  as- 
sured, he  knew,  if  the  number  of  his  cigars  had  been 
more  limited. 

He  was  able  to  go  down  the  row  of  clay  pipes, 
however,  snapping  pipe  after  pipe  off  at  the  stem,  each 
in  its  turn.  Then,  having  leaned  over  the  counter  in 
utter  idleness  for  a  minute  or  two,  he  tried  out  the 
tube  target.  His  third  shot  rang  the  bell.  So  did 
his  fifth,  his  eighth,  his  ninth  and  his  tenth.  Then 
he  put  down  his  gun,  felt  through  his  pockets,  and 
stared  about  with  a  heavy-eyed  dismay. 

"  Hell !  "  he  mumbled,  "  there  ain't  even  a  dime  for 
another  go !  " 

He  was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  the  stranger  in  the 
sweat-stained  Stetson  had  crossed  over  to  the  counter 
and  was  standing  close  beside  him.  He  could  hear 
the  click  of  a  coin  as  it  was  snapped  down  on  the 
board. 

"  Jigger>  hand  the  gen'leman  a  gun.  It's  worth  a 
nickel  or  two  to  see  real  shootin' ! " 

Kestner  laughed  with  lazy  unconcern,  took  the  rifle, 
and  tried  for  his  eleventh  target. 

"Missed!"  ejaculated  the  stranger  as  the  bullet 
left  its  tell-tale  stain  a  half-inch  above  the  bull's-eye. 

"  5S  what  booze  does,"  complained  Kestner  as  he 
sighted  again.  Out  of  the  next  six  shots,  however, 
four  of  them  were  bull's-eyes.  It  was  by  that  time, 
too,  that  Kestner  had  decided  on  his  role. 

"  You're  a  slick  shot,"  solemnly  admitted  the 
stranger. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  229 

<?  Ge£  me  some  day  without  a  hang-over,"  was  the 
other's  heavily  boastful  reply. 

"  Say,  son,  where'd  you  learn  to  shoot  that  way?  " 

"  Down  in  the  Panhandle  Country,"  was  the 
promptly  mendacious  reply. 

"  Learnt  ridin',  too,  I  s'pose?  " 

"  Anything  on  hoofs,"  acknowledged  the  other,  as 
he  made  a  fumble  at  rolling  a  cigarette. 

"  You  out  o'  work  ?  "  casually  inquired  the  stranger. 

"Yep!" 

"What's  your  trade?" 

Kestner  felt  that  his  new  friend  was  not  long  in  get- 
ting down  to  cases. 

"  Tried  brakin'  on  the  C.  and  G.  T.,  but  the  work 
was  too  heavy.  Before  that  I  was  a  plumber.  But 
I  got  in  bad,  out  yonder." 

"Where?" 

"  Out  West." 

"How?" 

"  Scabbin'." 

"  I  guess  you've  done  strike-breakin'  then?  " 

"  Sure.     A  man's  got  to  live." 

"  And  you  ain't  gun-shy  of  a  little  excitement  ?  " 

Kestner  laughed. 

"  I  can  eat  it  "  Then  he  yawned,  openly  and  audi- 
bly. "  But  what  I  could  eat  now's  about  ten  hours' 
sleep." 

The  stranger  at  his  side  grew  suddenly  thoughtful. 

"  I'm  roundin'  up  a  bunch  o'  strike-breakers  my- 
self," he  explained.  The  lowering  of  his  voice  became 
confidential,  fraternal.  "  I'm  lookin'  for  a  couple  o' 
hundred  good  men ;  and  you're  the  style  I'm  after." 


230  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Kestner  viewed  him  with  a  carelessly  cynical  eye. 

"  What're  you  payin'?  " 

"  Three  dollars  a  day,  and  everything  found.  That 
includes  transportation  from  New  York." 

"In  gold?" 

The  query  elicited  a  guarded  look  of  appraisal 
from  the  stranger  in  the  Stetson  hat.  The  figure  in 
rusty  brown,  apparently,  was  not  as  unsophisticated 
as  he  looked. 

"  Gold,  sure,"  was  the  final  response. 

"  And  where's  the  transportation  to  ?  " 

The  stranger  waved  an  ambiguously  comprehensive 
arm. 

"  Down  South." 

"  But  how  far  down?  "  Kestner  backed  disdain- 
fully away.  "  Get  this,  my  friend,  first  crack :  No 
Mexican  stuff  for  mine !  " 

"  Oh,  we'll  call  this  the  other  side  of  the  Canal." 

"But  what's  the  game?" 

"  Protectin'  nitrate  mines." 

"Go  on!" 

"Ain't  that  enough?" 

"  Not  for  me."  Kestner  leaned  sleepily  against  the 
shooting-gallery  counter.  The  other  man  stood  study- 
ing him. 

"  Look  here,  son,  I'm  roundin'  up  a  bunch  o9  long- 
horns  who  can  take  a  chance,  and  do  what  they're 
told,  and  keep  their  mugs  shut.  That's  worth  three 
dollars  a  day.  And  if  they  can  shoot  it's  worth  two 
dollars  extra." 

"  That  sounds  like  Banana  belt  revolution  work." 

"  No,  son,  it's  just  Banana  belt  politics.     And  once 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  231 

we  carry  the  election  in  that  republic  there's  a  three 
hundred  dollar  bonus  waitin'  for  ev'ry  man  who's  made 
good.  And  I'm  a  poor  guesser  if  you'd  be  a  quitter  in 
a  game  like  that." 

"  Oh,  I'm  glad  enough  to  get  out  o'  this  burg.  But 
I'm  bust.  What're  you  givin'  me  down?  " 

"  Twenty  bones." 

"  And  no  questions  asked?  " 

"  All  you've  got  to  do  is  step  down  to  the  office  and 
sign  up." 

Kestner  viewed  the  other  man  with  a  sudden  show 
of  suspicion.  But  that  mention  of  an  office  interested 
him. 

"  There's  no  street-parade  about  this  thing,  is 
there?" 

"  Son,  what're  you  scared  of?  "  was  the  stranger's 
gentle  inquiry. 

"  I'm  scared  o'  nothin'.  But  a  couple  o'  flatties've 
got  my  number  and  they're  goin'  to  pound  me  off  the 
island.  All  I  want  is  a  corner  to  crawl  into  till  I  can 
sleep  this  head  o'  mine  off." 

"  Then  just  step  this  way,"  said  the  man  with  the 
Stetson  hat,  as  he  glanced  casually  about  and  crossed 
to  the  sidewall  door  and  opened  it.  He  waited  until 
the  sleepy-eyed  man  at  his  heels  had  passed  through 
that  door.  Then  he  swung  it  shut. 

"  And  here's  your  twenty  to  cinch  the  thing,"  he 
added  as  he  produced  a  capacious  roll  of  bills  and 
peeled  off  two  yellowbacks. 

Kestner  took  the  two  bills,  folded  them  up,  and 
started  to  tuck  them  carefully  into  his  vest  pocket. 
Then,  as  he  listlessly  followed  the  other  man  down  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

narrow  steps  into  the  next  room,  he  drew  out  those 
yellowbacks  for  a  second  inspection. 

"  I  thought  you  paid  in  gold,"  he  suddenly  de- 
murred. 

"  That's  as  good  as  gold,  ain't  it?  " 

Kestner,  at  the  moment,  did  not  answer,  for  he  was 
staring  down  at  the  two  ten-dollar  notes,  re-inspect- 
ing them  with  the  trained  eye  of  the  expert. 

"  Ain't  that  as  good  as  gold?  "  demanded  the  other 
man. 

"  Sure,"  was  Kestner's  easy  answer,  for  the  first 
glance  had  warned  him  that  those  two  yellowbacks 
were  counterfeits.  And  the  second  glance  had  con- 
vinced him  of  the  fact  that  they  had  been  printed 
from  Lambert  plates,  with  Lambert  inks,  and  on  Lam- 
bert paper. 

Kestner  found  himself  in  a  basement-room  which 
bore  evidence  of  at  one  time  being  used  as  a  plumber's 
shop.  In  the  front  corner  stood  an  overturned  enamel 
bath-tub  and  a  couple  of  hand-bowls  of  the  same  ma- 
terial. Behind  these  lay  a  pile  of  gas-piping,  and  in 
the  heavily  grated  window  below  the  street-level  Kest- 
ner could  make  out  a  dusty  array  of  pipe-wrenches 
and  faucets,  a  gasoline  pump  torch,  and  a  broken 
heat-coil.  Next  to  this  window  was  a  grated  door 
which  opened  on  a  steep  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the 
sidewalk  level.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a 
huge  flat-topped  desk  on  which  was  a  telephone  trans- 
mitter, a  city  directory,  and  a  green-shaded  electric- 
light. 

But  it  was  none  of  these  things  that  held  Kestner's 
attention.  His  quick  glance  had  already  taken  in  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL1  233 

fact  that  two  doors  opened  through  a  wooden  partition 
across  the  back  of  the  room.  And  from  behind  one 
of  these  doors  came  the  sound  of  machinery,  the 
rhythmic  clatter  and  thump  of  what  could  be  only  a 
bed  press  in  operation. 

"  Got  a  printin'  plant  back  there?  "  he  somnolently 
inquired  as  he  sniffed  the  betraying  smell  of  benzine. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  other  man,  pulling  open  one  of  the 
desk  drawers  and  flinging  a  form-pad  on  the  battered 
table-top.  His  next  movement  was  one  of  impatience. 
"  You  sign  here,"  he  said  as  a  stubby  forefinger 
touched  the  bottom  of  the  pad. 

"  I  do  a  little  printin'  myself,"  amiably  persisted 
the  new  recruit.  He  sat  stiffly  down  at  the  desk  and 
took  up  a  pen.  Then  he  leaned  close  over  the  form, 
possessed  of  a  sudden  desire  to  conceal  his  face.  For 
on  the  floor,  at  one  end  of  the  desk  where  he  sat,  stood 
a  gallon  can  —  a  can  from  which  the  top  had  been 
cut  away.  Yet  the  insignia  and  the  lettering  on  this 
can  testified  to  the  fact  that  it  must  recently  have 
held  olive  oil.  And  oil,  Kestner  knew,  could  have 
.been  poured  readily  enough  from  the  unsealed  spout 
in  a  corner  of  the  severed  top.  What  startled  him, 
however,  was  the  discovery  that  the  can  bore  the  same 
stamp  as  those  which  had  been  stored  full  of  sand  and 
counterfeit  paper  in  the  Lambert  printing-plant  at 
Palermo. 

Kestner,  as  he  leaned  in  sleepy  dejection  over  the 
printed  form  and  scrawlingly  attached  a  signature  to 
its  bottom,  was  not  as  absentminded  as  his  appearance 
implied.  He  could  see  that  the  shooting-gallery 
abovestairs  was  merely  a  trap  to  gather  in  adventur- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

ous  roustabouts  and  beach-combers  and  strike-break- 
ers. These  worthies  were  apparently  being  drafted 
for  some  dubious  expedition  into  Latin- American  poli- 
tics. What  that  expedition  was  did  not  greatly  in- 
terest the  man  who  had  so  recently  sworn  allegiance  to 
the  cause.  What  held  his  attention  was  the  fact  that 
this  movement  was  being  financed  by  spurious  Lambert 
money,  that  he  himself  carried  two  of  those  counter- 
feit yellowbacks  in  his  pocket,  and  that  the  murderer 
of  Morello  had  in  some  way  associated  himself  with 
the  brick-skinned  man  in  front  of  him. 

Kestner  still  leaned  sleepily  over  the  desk-top.  He 
was  demanding  of  himself  what  deal  Lambert  in  his 
desperation  could  have  made  with  this  adventurer  from 
the  Tropics. 

"  Gi'  me  a  dollar  a  day  extra,"  he  languidly  sug- 
gested, "  and  I'll  do  your  printin'  for  you." 

"  You're  a  day  too  late,"  announced  the  other. 
"  And  you  said  you  wanted  to  sleep  off  that  head." 

"  I  sure  do.     I  never  got  a  wink  las  — " 

He  stopped  speaking,  for  the  telephone  bell  beside 
him  shrilled  out  its  sudden  summons.  The  man  in 
the  Stetson  hat  very  promptly  lifted  the  transmitter 
away  from  the  desk-top  and  took  down  the  receiver. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  over  the  wire.  "  Sure.  .  .  . 
This  is  Burke.  .  .  .  Sure.  .  .  .  An  Italian  named 
Carlesi  .  .  .  ever  since  morning.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Car- 
lesi.  .  .  .  Search  me.  .  .  .  All  right.  .  .  .  Any  old 
time.  .  .  .  Sure.  .  .  .  Sure ! " 

Kestner,  still  sitting  at  the  desk,  rubbed  a  heavy 
forehead. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  I  thought  you  were  goin'  to  let  me  get  where  it 
was  quiet  for  a  couple  of  hours,"  he  complained. 

The  man  in  the  Stetson  hat  had  taken  the  topmost 
sheet  from  the  pad,  folded  it  up,  and  placed  it  in  his 
wallet.  He  stood  for  a  moment  or  two  without  speak- 
ing, his  alert  little  eyes  studying  the  other  man's 
stooping  shoulders.  The  silhouette  of  that  somnolent 
figure  seemed  to  reassure  him. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  as  he  crossed  the  room  and 
unlocked  the  door  that  led  into  what  seemed  to  be  a 
narrow  passageway  to  the  left  of  the  printing-room. 
"  You  can  have  my  whole  private  office." 

"  Me  for  the  hay !  "  announced  Kestner.  He  got 
up  slowly,  yawned,  and  stepped  towards  the  open 
door. 

"  It  ain't  exactly  hay,  son,"  amended  his  new-found 
host,  "  but  I've  put  in  a  night  or  two  myself  on  that 
bit  of  counter  along  the  wall." 

"  It  looks  good  to  me,"  responded  Kestner  as  he 
sleepily  unlaced  his  square-toed  shoes  and  slipped  them 
off.  Then  he  made  a  show  of  clambering  heavily  up 
on  the  counter-top.  He  yawned  again  as  he  covered 
his  legs  with  a  worn  and  paint-stained  square  of  tar- 
paulin. 

"  Sleep  tight,"  he  heard  the  stranger  call  back  to 
him  as  he  closed  the  door  —  and  the  man  on  the  coun- 
ter suddenly  lifted  his  head,  for  he  felt  sure  of  a  touch 
of  mockery  in  that  apparently  blithe-noted  farewell. 

Then  a  sensation  not  altogether  conducive  to  quiet 
repose  sped  through  Kestner's  body.  He  had  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  sound  of  a  key  being  turned  in  the 


236  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

lock  and  then  withdrawn.  That  meant  he  had  Been 
made  a  prisoner.  And  the  Secret  Agent  was  further 
conscious  of  the  somewhat  disconcerting  fact  that  in 
taking  his  departure  the  man  in  the  Stetson  hat  had 
also  carried  away  with  him  a  pair  of  square-toed  shoes 
which  obviously  were  of  no  immediate  use  to  a  sleeper. 


in 

KESTNER  lay  stretched  out  along  his  counter-top, 
carefully  considering  his  predicament.  Steadily,  from 
the  next  room,  came  the  consoling  clank  and  pound  of 
the  bed  press.  Occasionally  from  the  shooting-gal- 
lery in  the  adjoining  building  crept  the  thin  and  muf- 
fled bark  of  the  target-rifles.  Now  and  then,  too,  he 
could  hear  the  faint  drone  of  a  steamer  whistle  some- 
where out  on  the  East  River.  But  beyond  this  nar- 
row cantata  of  noises  no  enlightening  sounds  came  to 
him. 

He  waited  a  few  minutes,  to  make  sure  he  was  not 
being  watched.  Then  he  slipped  quietly  from  the 
counter-top,  walked  noiselessly  to  the  door,  and  cau- 
tiously turned  the  knob.  That  door,  as  he  already 
knew,  was  locked. 

He  wheeled  slowly  about,  studying  the  narrow 
chamber  in,  which  he  found  himself  a  prisoner.  High 
up  in  the  brick  wall  at  the  rear  was  a  two-foot  window, 
guarded  with  bar-iron  sunk  in  the  masonry.  A  few 
feet  beyond  this  opening  he  could  see  a  white-washed 
plane  of  unbroken  brick,  but  nothing  else. 

Between  him  and  the  printing-room  stood  a  wooden 
partition  of  unpainted  matched  pine.  Here  and  there 
along  cracks  in  the  boards  he  could  make  out  the  glim- 
mer of  light,  presumably  from  an  electric  bulb  swung 

237 


238  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

above  the  busy  hand  press.  But  no  crevice  was  broad 
enough  to  permit  him  a  glimpse  of  that  room  which  he 
so  wished  to  inspect. 

The  front  of  his  narrow  prison  was  shut  off  from 
the  outer  office  by  a  partition  of  pine  no  heavier  than 
that  which  ran  along  the  side.  And  Kestner,  when  he 
realised  that  it  would  require  no  great  effort  to  force 
a  way  through  a  barrier  so  flimsy,  felt  less  disturbed 
in  spirit.  The  worthy  in  the  Stetson  hat,  he  con- 
cluded, had  merely  taken  an  ordinary  precaution  to 
keep  a  new  and  untried  recruit  under  surveillance. 
He  had  not  imprisoned  an  acknowledged  enemy.  He 
had  merely  impounded  an  unstable  adventurer  who 
could  later  be  made  to  serve  certain  desired  ends. 

Kestner  returned  to  his  study  of  the  little  chamber. 
Except  for  the  counter  and  the  tarpaulin  he  found  it 
as  bare  as  a  cell.  The  one  thing  that  worried  him 
now  was  the  loss  of  his  shoes.  But  a  source  of  even 
greater  perplexity  was  the  fact  that  he  could  see  noth- 
ing of  the  printing-room  next  to  him.  And  to  in- 
vestigate that  printing-room  was  his  first  business  in 
life. 

He  explored  the  partition  wall,  foot  by  foot.  Then 
he  took  out  his  pocket-knife,  squatted  down  at  the  in- 
ner end  of  the  counter,  and  found  two  boards  where 
the  tongue  and  groove  of  the  matched  pine  did  not 
come  close  together. 

He  cut  away  the  wood  along  this  narrow  fissure, 
timing  each  knife  stroke  to  synchronise  with  the  clank 
of  the  press.  Each  sliver  and  shaving  of  pine  was 
brushed  carefully  up  and  hidden  beneath  the  counter- 
end.  And  a  ten-inch  shift  of  the  counter,  he  saw 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  239 

when  he  had  finished,  could  easily  hide  all  signs  of 
work. 

But  that  work  resulted  in  a  quarter-inch  crevice 
which  commanded  a  reasonably  clear  view  of  the  next 
room.  And  Kestner,  leaning  forward,  could  see  the 
shock-headed  dome  of  a  middle-aged  man  at  work 
above  the  hand  press,  picked  out  by  the  light  from  an 
unshaded  electric  bulb.  On  shelves  beyond  the  press 
stood  a  litter  of  grey  camp-blankets  and  waterproofs 
and  wooden  boxes  that  looked  suspiciously  like  cases 
of  ammunition.  One  corner  of  the  room  was  piled 
high  with  larger  boxes.  A  couple  of  these  had  been 
broken  open,  apparently  for  inspection.  From  the  un- 
sealed end  of  one  protruded  the  stock  of  an  army  car- 
bine. 

Exceptional  and  significant  as  this  merchandise  ap- 
peared, it  did  not  interest  Kestner  so  much  as  did  the 
man  at  work  beside  the  press.  He  watched  that  man 
as  he  carefully  re-inked  his  rollers  and  continued  to 
feed  in  his  sheets  of  cinnamon-brown  bond  paper,  some 
eight  or  nine  inches  square.  He  watched  the  stooping- 
shouldered  and  swarthy-skinned  worker  as  he  held  one 
of  these  squares  up  to  the  light,  examined  it  with  his 
squinting  and  red-rimmed  eyes,  and  then  proceeded  to 
adjust  a  platen-shaft  which  seemed  to  be  giving  him 
trouble. 

As  the  printer  returned  to  his  task  of  running  his 
cinnamon-brown  squares  through  the  press  Kestner 
awoke  to  a  realisation  of  just  what  was  taking  place 
behind  the  closed  door  of  that  cellar  work-room. 
Those  sheets  of  tinted  bond,  the  Secret  Agent  decided, 
could  be  used  for  just  one  purpose.  He  had  surmised 


240  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

it  even  before  he  caught  sight  of  the  oddly  prepared 
shade  of  ink  and  the  figures  and  letters  so  freshly  im- 
pressed on  the  sheets  themselves. 

In  that  humble  little  cellar-room  was  being  created 
the  currency  of  an  impending  Republic.  From  eight 
photo-engraved  plates,  in  one  block,  the  man  at  the 
press  was  busily  printing  forty-peso  "  shin-plasters." 
And  those  forty-peso  notes,  Kestner  suddenly  remem- 
bered, were  an  integral  part  of  the  cause  to  which  he 
himself  had  so  recently  sworn  allegiance. 

He  was  reminded  of  the  imminence  of  this  cause  by 
the  sudden  thump  of  a  closed  door,  the  sound  of  steps, 
and  then  the  murmur  of  hurried  voices  from  the  room 
to  the  front.  The  Secret  Agent  crept  back  to  the 
transverse  partition  that  shut  off  his  narrow  cell  and 
pressed  an  ear  flat  against  the  pine  boards.  In  that 
position  he  was  able  to  make  out  the  clear-cut  tones 
of  the  man  who  had  first  spoken  to  him  in  the  shooting- 
gallery  above. 

"  But  I've  got  business  of  my  own  to  wind  up  here," 
he  was  complaining.  "  I've  got  to  gather  up  another 
couple  o'  dozen  men.  Then  I've  got  to  get  sixty  cases 
o'  wind-mill  equipment  aboard,  and  a  lighter  loaded 
with  those  phony  gasoline  engines  o'  mine." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  Burke,  I've  got  to  get  away  from 
here ! " 

At  the  first  sound  of  that  voice,  so  guardedly  low- 
ered in  tone,  Kestner  knew  it  was  Lambert  speaking. 

**  And  I've  got  to  get  away  from  here  too."  It  was 
Burke's  voice  speaking  this  time.  "  And  I've  got  a 
few  palms  to  grease  before  I  can  get  clearance." 

"  But  when  we  made  our  deal  you  agreed  to  get  me 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  241 

away,  and  get  me  away  without  any  waiting,"  retorted 
the  impatient  voice  of  Lambert.  Kestner,  behind  his 
thin  screen  of  matched  pine,  remembered  that  he  was 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  man  who  had  murdered  Mo- 
rello. 

"  Then  the  thing  for  you  to  (do,"  said  the  heavier 
voice  of  the  man  called  Burke,  "  is  to  get  down  to 
Tompkinsville  and  slip  aboard  the  Laminian.  You'll 
be  all  right  there  for  a  couple  o'  days.  Then  I'll  push 
things  through  and  get  off  by  Friday  noon." 

"  But  I've  got  that  paper  to  gather  up.  And  it 
amounts  to  over  three  millions.  We'll  need  that,  no 
matter  which  side  of  the  Equator  we're  on ! " 

There  was  a  change,  Kestner  realised,  in  the  voice 
of  Lambert.  It  seemed  the  voice  of  a  nervous  and 
harried  man  uncertain  of  the  future.  It  had  lost  its 
oldtime  placid  sense  of  power,  its  full-throated  reso- 
nance. It  seemed  now  to  hold  something  not  unlike 
a  touch  of  pleading,  an  undertone  of  plaintiveness. 

"Well,  why  not  do  your  gatherin'  to-day?"  de- 
manded Burke. 

"  But  I  can't  do  it.  That  stuff  is  consigned  to  a 
man  named  Morello." 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  with  an  order  from  Mo- 
rello?" 

"  I  can't  get  one." 

"Why?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  Morello's  where  he  can't  be  reached." 

"  Then  why  not  work  the  wharf  people  ?  " 

"  I  took  the  risk  and  went  to  the  Brooklyn  pier. 
They  telephoned  somewhere  to  verify  my  statement. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Then  they  told  me  the  shipment  would  have  to  be  held. 
And  I  can't  keep  dodging  around  this  town  in  day- 
light." 

"  I  imagined  that,"  was  the  other's  laconic  retort. 

"  If  we  get  that  stuff,  I've  got  to  get  it  myself." 

"  Well,  that  wouldn't  be  so  much  of  a  stunt.  There's 
no  time-lock  on  it." 

"  It's  held  and  guarded  in  a  bonded  warehouse." 

"  S'posin'  it  is.  I've  got  a  couple  o'  river  junkies 
who  can  get  into  anything  along  the  waterfront." 

"  But  I  must  handle  those  cans  myself.  We  must 
have  the  right  ones.  We  don't  want  seven  hundred 
gallons  of  olive  oil  mixed  up  with  that  shipment  of 
paper." 

"  Which  means  you'll  have  to  get  into  that  ware- 
house." 

"  Then  tell  me  how.     For  God's  sake,  tell  me  how !  " 

**  How?  Why,  I'll  get  you  two  or  three  men  who 
can  slip  in  under  with  a  muffled  kicker  and  cut  out  one 
of  those  six-inch  floor-planks." 

"  But  there'll  be  a  watchman  there  at  the  street  end 
of  the  pier  —  perhaps  two  of  them." 

Kestner  could  hear  the  easy  laugh  of  the  man  called 
Burke. 

"  Whitey  McKensic'll  fix  that  for  you.  He's  got  a 
trick  o'  cuttin'  out  a  pier-plank  and  asphalt  over-lay 
with  a  brace  and  bit,  goin'  through  eight  inches  of 
oak  without  makin'  more  noise  than  eatin'  through  a 
cheese  —  just  gets  up  between  a  couple  o'  stringers 
and  runs  a  row  o'  holes  across  a  plank.  Then  he  runs 
another  row  close  together,  about  three  feet  from  the 
first  row.  Then  he  chisels  that  block  free,  lets  it  drop 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  243 

out,  and  crawls  up  through  the  hole.  He  drops  what 
he  wants  into  his  boat,  slips  down  with  the  tide,  and 
unloads  at  a  Bath  Beach  fence." 

"  But  all  that  takes  time,"  complained  the  restless- 
souled  Lambert. 

"  I've  seen  Whitey  take  a  half-inch  ship  auger,  bore 
up  through  a  pier  floor,  tap  an  eighty-gallon  brandy- 
cask,  and  drain  it  off  and  get  away  in  half  an  hour's 
time." 

"  Then  the  sooner  I  get  through  the  floor  the  bet- 
ter. How  about  to-night  at  eleven  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  of  silence. 

'*  Tide's  against  us.'* 

"Then  twelve?" 

"  Too  early.  About  four  in  the  mornin'  would  be 
the  best." 

Then  came  still  another  silence. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute !  Why  couldn't  you  wait  until 
about  half-past  nine  to-night,  go  to  their  watchman 
with  an  order  from  the  office,  and  get  inside  and  stay 
there  until  Whitey  gives  a  signal  ?  " 

"  Where  would  I  get  the  order?  "  Lambert,  it  was 
plain,  was  not  his  usual  inventive  and  expeditious  self. 
The  other  man  even  laughed  a  little. 

"  Ain't  you  a  scratcher  ?  Couldn't  you  work  a  lit- 
tle Jim  the  Penman  stunt  on  that  wharf  bunch  ?  " 

"  If  you  can  get  me  a  letter-head." 

"  Sure  I  can." 

"  That  would  give  me  time  to  sort  out  the  paper 
and  get  it  baled  together  ready  for  handling." 

"There's  just  one  thing,"  objected  the  man  called 
Burke. 


244  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  What's  that?  "  demanded  Lambert. 

His  question  remained  unanswered,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment a  door  opened  and  a  youthful  and  nasal-noted 
voice,  apparently  that  of  Jigger,  was  heard  to  call  out 
from  the  head  of  the  stair-way :  "  Yes,  ma'am,  he's 
here  all  right." 


IV 

THE  tableau  which  must  have  succeeded  that  unex- 
pected speech  was  lost  to  Kestner.  He  was  conscious 
only  of  the  sudden  silence,  prolonging  itself  until  it 
became  epochal.  And  that  silence,  to  the  listener,  was 
doubly  hard  to  bear,  for  he  had  no  means  of  determin- 
ing its  cause  and  no  way  of  relieving  its  tension. 

Then,  almost  with  relief,  came  the  sound  of  a 
woman's  voice,  tense,  reed-like,  touched  with  both  de- 
fiance and  determination.  And  the  moment  he  heard 
that  voice,  Kestner  knew  it  was  Maura  Lambert 
speaking. 

"  Where  is  Carlesi?  " 

It  was  not  merely  a  question.  It  was  a  declaration, 
an  exaction,  a  challenge.  It  came  as  an  ultimatum 
that  was  not  to  be  ignored.  It  was  apparently  di- 
rected at  Lambert,  who  required  several  moments' 
time  before  he  could  remarshal  his  forces  against  it. 
Kestner  was  further  conscious  of  the  fact  that  the  man 
in  the  next  room  had  not  resumed  his  work  at  the  press. 
He  could  hear  the  snap  of  the  switch  as  the  light  was 
turned  out,  and  he  knew  that  Carlesi  himself  was  be- 
coming an  interested  spectator  of  that  encounter. 
But  Kestner  had  not  time  to  dwell  on  these  discov- 
eries. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  " 

It  was  Lambert's  voice  that  spoke.  In  that  voice 
245 


246  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

was  an  effort  at  the  authoritative,  the  autocratic.  It 
was  not  without  the  note  of  scorn;  but  as  a  counter- 
challenge  it  lacked  confidence. 

"  You  know  what  I  am  doing  here,"  was  the  woman's 
calm  retort.  There  was  an  answering  and  unequivo- 
cal derisiveness  in  her  voice  as  she  spoke.  Kestner 
could  even  catch  Lambert's  movement  of  impa- 
tience. 

"  Let  me  talk  to  this  girl  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  said 
to  the  man  called  Burke. 

"  Sure,"  was  Burke's  airily  indifferent  reply.  He 
evidently  stopped  and  turned  back  as  he  crossed  the 
room.  "  I've  got  to  get  that  letter-head  anyway. 
How  long'll  you  be  here?  " 

"  It  will  not  be  long." 

There  was  a  barb  to  the  words  as  Lambert  shot  them 
out. 

"  It  may  be  longer  than  you  imagine,"  said  the  quiet- 
voiced  young  woman.  Burke  must  have  stopped  to 
study  her.  He  laughed  quietly,  for  no  reason  that 
Kestner  could  fathom. 

"  Then  there's  a  door-key  in  the  desk-drawer,"  the 
adventurer  called  back  as  he  opened  the  street-door. 
"  But  don't  you  two  high-spirited  aristocrats  get 
messin'  up  my  office,  or  you'll  be  sorry  you  came." 

Kestner  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  door  as  it 
closed.  Then  came  a  period  of  silence,  pregnant,  dis- 
turbing, ominous. 

"  Now  what  do  you  want  ?  "  Lambert  was  heard  to 
ask.  There  was  quietness  in  his  tone  by  this  time, 
but  there  was  also  menace. 

"  I  want  Carlesi." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  247 

"Why?" 

"  My  business  is  with  Carlesi,"  was  her  uncompro- 
mising retort. 

"  And  also  with  me" 

"  It  will  never  again  be  with  you."  Her  voice 
shook  with  a  tremolo  of  restrained  passion. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that." 

"  I'm  sure  now  of  only  one  thing." 

"  Are  you?  "  he  mocked. 

"  That's  of  your  life-time  of  lying  and  cheating  and 
cowardice,  of  your  utter  baseness." 

"  And  you're  through  with  all  that?  "  he  taunted. 

"  I'm  through  with  all  that,"  she  passionately  main- 
tained. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  yourself,"  he  suddenly  cried 
out  to  her.  "  You're  in  the  mess  as  deep  as  I  am. 
You're  marked,  and  you  know  it.  And  you  can't  get 
away  from  this  town  any  easier  than  I  can." 

There  was  almost  a  note  of  weariness  in  her  reply. 
"  I  have  got  away  from  you." 

"  No,  you  haven't.  And  you're  not  going  to. 
You've  tried  that  before,  and  it  never  worked.  It 
never  will  work." 

It  was  words  like  these,  Kestner  suddenly  remem- 
bered, that  Morello  himself  had  used  to  the  girl. 

"  This  time  I  think  it  will.  ...  I  came  here  to  see 
Carlesi." 

Lambert  forced  a  laugh.  It  was  not  a  mirthful 
one. 

"  Then  you've  started  a  little  late.  Carlesi's  been 
dead  for  just  seven  years." 

"Why  should  you  lie  to  me  —  now?"  she  asked, 


24,8  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

and  her  quietness  seemed  more  disturbing  than  any 
outburst  could  be. 

Kestner,  as  he  tried  to  picture  them  aligned  there, 
combative  face  to  face,  felt  that  Lambert  was  not  his 
old  self,  that  his  contention  as  to  Carlesi  was  foolish, 
that  some  newborn  timorousness  of  soul  had  robbed 
him  of  his  old  astuteness  just  as  it  had  denuded  him  of 
his  old  dignity. 

"  I  know  Carlesi  is  in  this  building,"  was  the  girl's 
deliberate  announcement. 

"  And  what  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it,  I  know  it." 

Then  came  still  another  interim  of  silence.  Lam- 
bert was  plainly  not  sure  of  his  ground. 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to  see  him." 

"  Then  you're  on  the  wrong  trail." 

•'*  Can  I  never  look  for  the  truth  from  you  ?  " 

"  Carlesi's  on  a  freighter  —  on  a  freighter  called 
the  Laminian,  anchored  down  the  Bay  —  on  a  tramp 
carrying  contraband  of  war,  that's  going  to  take  him 
and  you  and  me  to  South  America." 

"  You  know  that  neither  you  nor  Carlesi  can  ever 
leave  New  York." 

"Can't  we?  And  who'll  stop  us?"  That  chal- 
lenge was  mouthed  largely,  but  there  was  something 
deeper  than  concern  in  the  strident  voice. 

"  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that." 

Again  Lambert  emitted  his  scoffing  laugh. 

"  Not  your  cigar-eating  moucliard  this  time,  my 
dear!" 

There  was  a  brief  intermission  of  silence  as  Lam- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  249 

bert  obviously  drew  closer  to  the  woman  he  was  ad- 
dressing. "  Listen  to  me,  my  girl,"  and  his  voice  was 
lower  and  more  rasping  as  he  went  on.  "  You  can't 
change  your  spots  or  jump  your  gang  over-night. 
I'm  not  going  to  haggle  about  the  past.  But  we're 
both  cornered  here,  and  we've  both  got  a  chance  for 
a  get-away.  Wait  —  listen  to  me.  We  can  get  down 
to  Colon  or  perhaps  Port  Limon,  and  strike  up  to 
San  Jose.  Then  we  can  work  Rio  and  Pernambuco 
and  Buenos  Ayres  until  things  straighten  out.  In- 
side of  two  years,  we  can  slip  back  to  Europe,  and  by 
that  time  you  can  have  enough  to  go  where  you  like, 
and  stay  where  you  like." 

"  Enough  what?  " 

There  was  something  akin  to  pity  in  her  voice  as 
she  put  that  question  to  him.  It  accentuated,  to  the 
listening  Kestner,  the  essential  difference  in  their  na- 
tures, the  one  accepting  without  protest  or  revolt  a 
condition  of  life  which  must  always  stand  odious  to 
the  other. 

"  Enough  hard  cash,"  was  Lambert's  reply. 
"  Enough  to  keep  you  going  the  way  it  kept  you  going 
in  the  past,  that  gave  you  the  best  in  the  land,  no  mat- 
ter how  I  had  to  scheme  and  plot  for  it." 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  the  past.  I  cannot  think  of 
it.  What  I'm  thinking  of  is  the  future.  And  my 
problems  are  not  the  kind  hard  cash,  as  you  call  it, 
can  solve." 

"  Ha,  you'll  sing  another  tune  when  the  hard  cash 
isn't  where  you  want  it." 

"  I  shall  thank  God  for  the  chance,"  was  her  devout 
rejoinder. 


250  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  And  after  that  what'll  you  do?  " 

"  I  shall  live  my  own  life,  in  my  own  way." 

"  How'll  you  live?     And  where'll  you  live?  " 

"  That  must  be  my  own  concern.  .  .  .  And  I  came 
to  see  Carlesi." 

"  Well,  find  him !  "  challenged  the  other,  swept  away 
by  his  anger. 

Kestner  suddenly  held  his  breath,  for  he  could  hear 
the  woman  as  she  quickly  crossed  the  room  and  tried 
the  very  door  behind  which  he  crouched.  Then  she 
went  to  the  door  of  the  printing-room.  It  too  was 
locked.  But  she  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  trivial  ob- 
stacles or  side-issues. 

"  What  is  behind  those  doors?  "  she  demanded. 

*'  Nothing,"  was  Lambert's  retort. 

"  Then  why  are  they  locked  ?  " 

Her  opponent  did  not  answer  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Why  ask  me?     Ask  the  man  who  owns  them." 

"  Will  you  open  those  doors  ?  " 

There  was  a  finality  in  that  demand,  a  finality  which 
seemed  to  compel  her  adversary  to  a  still  newer  course 
of  equivocation. 

"  How  am  I  to  open  them  ?  "  he  craftily  inquired. 

"  Then  I  shall  find  some  one  who  can." 

Lambert  must  have  intercepted  her  on  the  way  to 
the  street  door. 

"  Would  you  be  fool  enough  to  bring  a  cop  in 
here?  "  he  cried  out,  and  he  was  panting  a  little,  either 
from  the  exertion  of  holding  her  or  from  the  shock  at 
the  thought  of  her  madness. 

(t  Don't  dare  to  touch  me,"  she  said  to  him,  and 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL1  251 

again  the  coerced  and  icy  quietness  of  her  voice  was 
ominous. 

"  Then  for  the  love  o'  God  be  reasonable,"  he  cried, 
plainly  conscious  that  the  avenue  of  his  escape  was  a 
narrowing  one. 

"  Then  take  me  to  Carlesi." 

"  I  tell  you  I  can't  do  it,"  he  protested,  surrender- 
ing to  some  final  compulsion  of  fear.  There  was,  how- 
ever, a  subtler  note  in  his  voice  as  he  spoke  again. 
"  But  if  you've  got  to  have  him,  I'll  get  him  for  you." 

"  I  intend  to  see  him." 

"  Then  stay  here  a  minute." 

Kestner  waited,  without  breathing,  wondering  what 
it  could  mean.  He  waited  for  the  sound  of  Lambert's 
approaching  steps.  But  instead  of  approaching, 
they  receded;  they  crossed  the  floor,  and  mounted  the 
stairs,  and  passed  out  through  the  quickly  opened 
door. 

Then  the  white  light  of  truth  smote  on  the  Secret 
Agent  with  a  suddenness  which  caused  him  to  gasp,  as 
a  banqueter  gasps  at  a  flashlight  taken  over  his  shoul- 
der. The  unexpected  had  happened,  had  come  about 
in  its  unexpected  way.  Lambert  had  gone. 

Kestner  crouched  there,  waiting  interminably,  tor- 
tured by  the  thought  that  he  was  unable  to  act.  He 
could  merely  listen  with  straining  ears  behind  his 
locked  door,  debating  within  himself  whether  it  would 
be  better  or  not  to  push  through  that  flimsy  barrier 
and  confront  Carlesi  and  Maura  Lambert  while  they 
stood  within  the  same  walls.  For  Lambert,  he  had  in- 
stinctively felt,  would  never  return  to  that  room. 


JUST  why  Kestner  hesitated  was  not  quite  clear  to 
himself.  To  break  through  a  pine  door,  he  knew,  was 
easy  enough,  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  face  the  pre- 
dicament of  appearing  ridiculous  in  Maura  Lambert's 
eyes.  His  intrusion  now  could  never  be  a  dignified 
one.  Among  other  things  he  was  sadly  in  need  of  his 
shoes  —  and  few  men  can  hope  to  be  impressive  without 
their  footwear.  He  was  also  a  little  ashamed  of  his 
rusty  brown  apparel.  But  he  was  more  ashamed  of  the 
thought  that  around  him  would  necessarily  hang  the 
odium  of  the  eavesdropper,  of  the  spy  and  lurker  be- 
hind closed  doors.  He  dreaded  to  face  the  woman  in 
the  next  room.  He  would  seem  doubly  ignoble  before 
her  now,  swept  as  she  was  by  her  expiatory  passion  of 
renunciation.  She  was  in  some  way  above  him,  ex- 
alted by  an  emotion  which  he  could  not  share  with  her. 
She  was  facing  the  light,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
and  in  that  hour  of  illumination  he  himself  would  cut 
but  a  sorry  figure.  For  a  moment  or  two  the  Secret 
Agent  almost  hated  his  calling. 

But  all  thought  on  the  matter  was  ended  by  an 
abrupt  movement  from  the  next  room.  Kestner  had 
no  means  of  determining  just  what  had  prompted 
Carlesi's  action.  There  was  nothing  to  show  that  any 
sign  or  word  had  been  passed  in  to  the  Italian  in  the 
printing-room.  But  some  message,  Kestner  felt,  must 

252 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  253 

have  been  given  and  received,  to  bring  about  so  new 
a  course  of  action.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  light 
switch  being  snapped  on,  the  grate  of  a  key  turning 
in  a  lock,  and  the  door  of  the  printing-room  was  sud- 
denly thrown  open. 

This  was  followed  by  a  silence  of  several  seconds, 
and  then  from  the  startled  girl  came  a  cry,  low  in 
note,  yet  shot  through  with  a  timbre  which  caused  a 
small  thrill  to  speed  through  Kestner's  crouching 
body. 

"Carlesi!" 

She  repeated  the  word  more  quietly,  as  though  it 
were  balm  to  her  breast,  as  though  she  were  hugging 
to  her  soul  some  truth  which  could  never  be  taken 
away  from  her. 

Kestner  could  see  nothing.  He  no  longer  had  any 
definite  idea  as  to  their  positions.  But  he  knew  they 
were  talking  in  Italian  now,  volubly,  excitedly,  fever- 
ishly. She  was  assailing  him  with  anxious  questions 
and  demands.  His  answers,  at  times,  seemed  equivo- 
cal and  circuitous.  He  kept  hedging  and  contradict- 
ing himself,  but  by  sheer  force  of  will  she  was  finally 
wringing  the  truth  from  him,  forcing  from  his  reluctant 
lips  a  confirmation  of  what  Morello  had  already  told 
her. 

It  was  only  brokenly  that  Kestner  could  follow  the 
hurrying  interplay  of  their  talk.  But  he  gathered 
that  Carlesi  had  opened  his  shirt-front  and  was  show- 
ing the  girl  a  bullet  scar  there,  the  scar  which  she  her- 
self had  made. 

Then  Kestner  became  instinctively  aware  of  the  fact 
that  Carlesi's  manner  had  changed.  What  caused 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

that  change  the  eavesdropper  had  no  way  of  telling. 
But  it  was  transparent  enough  that  Carlesi  was  pro- 
testing that  he  was  an  old  man,  that  he  was  broken 
in  health,  that  his  bullet  wound  had  left  him  with  a 
weak  lung.  He  began  to  whimper  for  money,  pro- 
testing that  the  girl  had  plenty  and  that  all  he  needed 
was  enough  to  get  out  of  the  country,  to  where  it  was 
warm  and  his  cough  could  be  cured. 

The  listener  behind  the  closed  door  could  hear  the 
girl  promising  him  her  help,  protesting  she  would  give 
him  what  she  could.  The  tones  of  her  voice  struck 
Kestner  as  being  strangely  impetuous  and  exalted,  as 
though  the  consciousness  of  some  great  deliverance 
had  lifted  her  high  above  the  things  of  everyday  life. 
Yet  something  about  the  answering  voice  of  Carlesi 
touched  the  listener  with  disquiet.  It  brought  that 
listener's  ear  closer  against  the  wooden  partition,  in  a 
panic  to  catch  every  sound  that  might  pass  between 
the  couple  so  completely  hidden  from  his  view. 

Yet  what  took  place  he  could  not  altogether  de- 
cipher. He  only  knew  there  was  the  sound  of  a  sud- 
den gasp  from  the  girl,  followed  by  an  oddly  choked 
little  cry,  as  though  a  hand  had  been  pressed  over  her 
mouth  at  the  very  moment  she  was  about  to  call  out. 
Then  came  a  sharp  concussion  of  the  partition-boards 
and  the  equally  sharp  sounds  of  two  bodies  struggling 
together. 

Kestner  no  longer  hesitated.  He  stepped  quickly 
back  from  the  locked  door  and,  throwing  himself  for- 
ward, shouldered  against  it  with  all  his  weight.  That 
impact  burst  it  open  as  readily  as  though  it  had  been 
made  of  cardboard. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  255 

He  was  in  time  to  see  Carlesi  grappling  and  twist- 
ing and  catching  at  the  girl's  body  —  and  he  blindlj 
recalled  that  there  had  been  too  much  of  this  primal 
and  animal-like  contention,  of  this  underworld  assault 
of  body  against  body.  One  gross  arm,  he  saw,  was 
about  the  girl's  head,  and  a  blackened  and  ink-stained 
hand  clamped  over  her  mouth.  And  she  was  being 
forced  back  against  the  metal  of  the  bed  press,  calmly, 
•vindictively,  while  Carlesi  plainly  deliberated  as  to  the 
best  manner  of  making  her  a  prisoner. 

The  sight  of  that  uneven  struggle,  of  a  body  so 
contaminated  confronting  one  so  incongruously  frag- 
ile, angered  Kestner  beyond  all  reason.  It  sent  a 
blind  surge  of  rage  through  his  veins,  seeming  to  ex- 
plode like  a  bomb  in  the  very  core  of  his  brain.  He 
had  no  recollection  of  catching  up  the  type-bar  whick 
he  afterwards  found  in  his  hand.  He  faintly  remem- 
bered the  dull  sound  of  the  impact  as  that  bar  de- 
scended on  the  forward-bent  head  with  its  mat  of  un- 
kempt and  crow-black  hair.  He  saw  the  Italian  go 
down  like  a  clouted  rabbit.  He  saw  the  girl  lean  back 
against  the  press-wheel,  and  then  stagger  a  little  to 
one  side,  as  this  wheel  half-turned  with  her  weight. 
The  pallor  of  her  face  made  the  ink  stains  about  her 
mouth  almost  ludicrous.  She  did  not  seem  to  recog- 
nise him.  She  was  panting  and  weak,  and  it  was 
several  seconds  before  she  could  compel  her  gaze  t» 
seek  out  the  huddled  figure  on  the  paper-littered 
floor. 

"  You've  killed  him ! "  she  gasped  in  a  little  more 
than  a  whisper.  Then  she  looked  at  Kestner  long  and 
steadily,  without  moving. 


956  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  It's  you,  this  time ! "  she  moaned,  as  she  stared 
ielplessly  about  her. 

Kestner  laughed,  hysterically,  foolishly.  It  seemed 
fife  again,  that  plunge  into  action  after  such  aeons  of 
silence  and  waiting. 

"  Killed  him  ?  "  he  cried  as  he  stooped  forward  and 
slapped  about  the  inert  hip  of  the  stunned  man.  "  I 
ought  to  have  killed  him,"  he  added  as  he  drew  Car- 
lesi's  revolver  from  its  hidden  pocket. 

"Is  he  dead?"  she  quavered.  Her  hand  was 
groping  blindly  about  until  it  rested  on  one  of  the 
carbine-cases. 

"  He's  no  more  dead  than  he  was  when  Lambert  said 
jou'd  shot  him.  And  we  know  how  dead  that  was !  " 

Kestner  had  already  dropped  to  his  knees  and  was 
busily  engaged  in  unlacing  the  unconscious  Italian's 
shoes.  But  his  glance  wandered  to  the  white-faced 
woman,  and  still  again  there  swept  over  him  the  in- 
effaceable conviction  of  her  bodily  beauty,  the  sense 
of  that  inapposite  fineness  of  fibre  which  unfitted  her 
for  such  scenes  as  this,  just  as  it  had  unfitted  her  for 
the  ways  of  the  underworld  into  which  she  had  been 
thrust. 

"  But  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  she  asked  as  she 
stared  at  Kestner's  stooping  figure. 

"  It  means  that  Lambert  tipped  this  man  off  to  act 
just  as  he's  acted.  And  it  means,  now,  we  both  know 
who  Lambert  is  and  what  he  is." 

She  had  dropped  into  a  wooden  chair  on  the  far 
side  of  the  hand-press  and  was  mopping  her  stained 
.mouth  with  a  foolishly  small  handkerchief.  She 
stared  at  him  a  little  vacantly  as  he  quickly  pulled  on 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  257 

the  Italian's  shoes  and  fell  to  lacing  them  up.  The 
feverish  haste  of  his  movements  seemed  to  puzzle  her. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  she  finally  asked. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  ready  for  Lambert,"  was  his  an- 
swer. 

"  But  he'll  never  come  back." 

"  Then  I'll  go  for  him."  Kestner  was  on  his  feet 
by  this  time,  dodging  across  the  room.  He  found  re- 
lief in  quick  movement,  for  he  was  not  so  calm  as  he 
pretended  to  be. 

"  But  where  can  you  go  ?  " 

"  It  won't  be  far,"  said  Kestner  as  he  dodged  out  to 
the  telephone  and  caught  up  the  receiver.  Carlesi, 
he  saw,  had  moved  one  hairy  arm  a  little.  There  was 
no  time  to  be  lost. 

He  dodged  back  to  the  printing-room  door  and 
stood  there  with  his  hand  on  the  knob.  The  girl  saw 
that  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  step  to  the  outer  room. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  closed  and  locked  the  print- 
ing-room door  that  she  turned  slowly  about  and  faced 
him.  He  could  see  that  she  was  steeling  herself  to  a 
final  composure  which  was  not  easy  to  achieve. 

"  What  must  I  do  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

Kestner,  who  had  been  disconsolately  studying  his 
ill-fitting  shoes,  looked  even  more  disconsolately  up 
into  her  face.  He  stared  at  the  shadowy  violet-blue 
eyes,  at  the  misty  rose  of  the  unhappy  mouth  that 
seemed  made  for  happiness,  and  his  own  misery  in- 
creased. Then  he  took  a  deep  breath. 

"  I  am  a  federal  officer,"  he  began,  wondering  why; 
it  was  so  hard  for  him  to  say  what  was  necessary  to 
say. 


S58  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said.  She  was  no  longer  looking 
at  him. 

"  And  I  have  certain  duties  to  perform." 

A  silence  fell  between  them.  He  found  it  hard  to 
go  on. 

"  You  mean  you  can't  let  me  go  ?  "  she  finally  sug- 
gested. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  can't  let  you  go." 

"  Once,"  she  said,  "  you  told  me  I  could  count  on 
your  help." 

"  How  can  enemies  help  each  other?  " 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  We  can  never  be  enemies  —  now." 

"  And  still  there  is  nothing  I  can  do." 

"  There  is  only  one  thing." 

"  What?  "  he  asked,  staring  at  the  pale  oval  of  her 
face. 

"  You  must  let  me  go." 

"But  where?" 

*;  Anywhere.     Anywhere  away  from  here !  " 

"  But  that  would  only  mean  going  out  into  danger." 

She  smiled  a  little  wanly. 

"  I  shall  have  to  learn  to  face  that  danger." 

"  But  you  can't  fight  a  thing  like  this  out  alone. 
You'll  need  help." 

"  I  shall  have  to  learn  to  fight  it  out  alone.  And 
I'm  not  afraid  any  more." 

A  great  desolation  was  eating  at  his  heart,  the  deso- 
lation of  a  man  who  must  face  failure  both  before  and 
behind  him. 

"  But  how  could  I  ever  find  you  ?  " 

That  query  arrested  her  as  she  moved  to  adjust  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  259 

veil  about  her  hat-brim.     He  had  tried  in  vain  to  keep 
his  voice  from  shaking  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  said  once  that  the  world  was  small,"  she  be- 
gan, in  little  more  than  a  whisper.  Then  she  stopped, 
hesitating.  He  realised,  at  that  moment,  how  they 
were  proceeding  by  indirection  only,  how  vast  were 
the  reservations  which  dare  not  be  forgotten,  how  di- 
vergent were  the  lives  confronting  each  other  across 
a  narrow  desk-top  in  that  water-front  cellar.  But  the 
desolation  in  his  heart  seemed  more  than  he  could  en- 
dure. 

"  We  may  meet  again,"  she  was  saying.  "  Some 
time  when  I  can  meet  you  without  —  without  shame." 

She  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  steep  little  flight  of 
steps  that  led  to  the  street  and  liberty.  One  hand 
was  on  the  rusty  iron  railing.  He  could  have  reached 
out  and  taken  it.  But  he  made  no  effort  to  stop  her. 

"  We  shall  meet  again !  "  he  cried  out  with  sudden 
conviction,  catching  at  that  hope  as  the  drowning  catch 
at  a  life-belt. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  very  quietly.  For  one  mo- 
ment she  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  then  she  turned 
away.  Her  face,  he  remembered,  was  quite  colourless. 
It  wore  more  an  air  of  relinquishment  than  of  triumph. 
There  were  no  tears  in  the  dark  lashed  eyes  as  they 
gazed  down  into  his,  for  she  was  already  on  the  first 
step  leading  to  the  street.  But  they  seemed  crowned 
with  a  shadowy  wistfulness  that  impressed  him  as 
more  poignant  than  tears.  And  he  cherished  the 
thought,  foolishly,  that  in  that  last  vision  of  her,  he 
was  compelled  to  look  up  to  her,  and  not  down  at  her. 


260  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

Wilsnach,  dropping  from  his  overdriven  taxi-cab 
ten  minutes  later,  beheld  a  dejectedly  shabby  figure  in 
a  soiled  felt  hat  and  a  rusty  brown  suit  staring  ab- 
sently out  over  the  East  River,  grey  with  the  light  of 
the  late  afternoon. 

Twice  Wilsnach  was  compelled  to  accost  this  figure 
before  eliciting  any  response. 

"  Wilsnach,  there's  a  counterfeiter  named  Carlesi 
locked  in  down  there,"  Kestner  finally  explained. 
"You'd  better  place  him  under  arrest,  for  after  to- 
night I'm  quitting  the  service!  " 

"You  mean  you've  got  Lambert?"  gasped  Wils- 
nach. 

"  No,"  was  Kestner's  quiet  response.  "  I  said 
after  to-night.  And  I'm  going  to  get  him,  before 
morning!  " 


VI 

KESTNER  knew  it  was  not  yet  morning.  He  also 
knew  that  he  had  not  as  yet  captured  Lambert. 

There  were  still  other  things  which  he  knew,  and 
one  of  them  was  the  need  for  silence.  He  was  only  to» 
keenly  alive  to  the  danger,  in  that  strange  place,  off 
the  slightest  sound.  There  might  be  peril  in  the 
minutest  audible  movement. 

Yet  sound  seemed  the  one  thing  for  which  his  over- 
tensioned  nerves  were  clamoring.  And  the  one  relief 
which  his  aching  muscles  demanded  was  movement, 
free  and  abandoned  movement.  Yet  he  dare  not  so 
much  as  lift  his  rib-cage  and  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a. 
good  sigh. 

That  misery  of  mind  and  body  would  have  been 
less  acute  had  there  been  some  glimmer  of  light,  how- 
ever microscopic.  The  unbroken  darkness  had  be- 
come inquisitional.  It  kept  imparting  to  him  the 
impression  of  being  disembodied,  of  floating  ghost- 
like between  heaven  and  earth,  of  crouching  poised 
at  the  lonely  centre  of  some  lonely  etheric  waste.  He 
felt  lonesome.  And  he  wished  he  could  sm'oke. 

The  darkness  that  encompassed  Kestner  was  like 
a  covering  of  muffling  black  velvet.  It  was  a  blanket- 
ing opaqueness  that  seemed  to  shut  off  the  very  air 
from  his  lungs.  It  seemed  something  more  than  a 

mere  negation  of  light,  something  tractile  and  en- 

261 


268  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

folding,  a  deepening  inky  tide  which  threatened  to 
solidify  and  embalm  him,  struggling  for  breath,  in 
its  Nubian  depths.  It  had  merged  into  something 
tangible  and  threatening,  something  active  and  assail- 
ing, seeming  to  cannonade  the  harried  sentries  of  his 
nervous  system  with  its  thunderous  volleys  of  imma- 
terialities. 

The  silence  too  was  more  than  oppressive.  It  had 
become  enervating,  exhausting.  It  lay  about  him  no 
longer  a  silence  of  rhythms,  of  periodic  climaxes  and 
relapses.  It  was  now  a  dull  monotone,  a  Dead  Sea 
of  uninterrupted  hush,  a  cessation  of  movement  and 
life  so  complete  that  it  seemed  universal,  something 
incredibly  diffused  and  prolonged,  a  culmination  of 
stillness  that  assaulted  the  nerves  even  as  the  con- 
tinued top-most  note  of  a  steam  calliope  might. 

Yet  somewhere  under  the  arched  iron  roof  of  that 
huge  wharf-shed,  cathedral-like  in  its  trick  of  echoing 
and  re-echoing  with  the  slightest  movement,  waited 
the  enemy  he  had  followed  so  far  and  hunted  so  long. 
Somewhere  within  the  walls  of  that  water-front  ware- 
house, perhaps  not  ten  spaces  from  him,  waited  the 
leader  and  the  last  active  member  of  the  Lambert 
gang. 

Just  where  that  enemy  waited  Kestner  could  not 
tell.  And  in  that  absence  of  knowledge  lay  the  core 
of  the  Secret  Agent's  mental  unrest,  his  strain  of 
suspense.  They  were  there,  together,  in  that  mid- 
night building.  That  was  all  he  could  be  sure  of. 
They  were  pitted  in  that  abysmal  blackness,  as  men 
pit  game-cocks  to  fight  out  their  fight  to  a  finish. 

Fate  had  indeed  pitted  them  there,  but  Fate  had 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  263 

not  ordained  that  they  should  fight.  For  something 
had  made  Lambert  suspicious.  He  had  grown  as  si- 
lent as  a  hunted  animal  assured  of  the  adequacy  of  its 
shelter.  He  had  converted  that  interminable  night 
into  a  duel  of  silences.  He  had  suddenly  lapsed  into 
utter  stillness, —  and  for  a  stillness  so  heroically  main- 
tained, Kestner  knew,  there  must  indeed  be  an  ample 
reason.  It  was  an  unending  Waterloo  of  waiting, 
and  it  had  not  been  engineered  without  cause. 

Once,  as  Kestner  thought  this  over,  the  chill  of  the 
night  air  brought  a  tickle  to  his  nostrils,  and  he  had 
to  put  a  finger  over  his  upper  lip,  pressing  it  tight 
against  his  teeth,  to  stop  the  sneeze  which  threatened 
to  shake  his  body  and  fling  an  explosion  of  sound 
across  the  darkness. 

This  brought  a  fresh  terror  to  Kestner's  already 
harassed  mind.  A  mere  cough  could  be  his  undoing; 
one  uncontrolled  spasm  of  the  body  could  crown  his 
night's  work  with  ignominious  defeat.  One  telltale 
sound  would  verify  Lambert's  suspicions.  And  Lam- 
bert must  have  nursed  these  suspicions.  For  it  was 
plain  that  something  had  happened.  Something  had 
occurred  to  disturb  his  enemy's  peace  of  mind,  to 
shake  his  confidence,  to  put  a  stop  to  his  raid  on  the 
olive-oil  tins  in  which  the  counterfeit  paper  from 
the  Palermo  plant  was  so  cunningly  sealed. 

Lambert,  his  pursuer  acknowledged,  might  be  even 
closer  to  him  than  he  imagined.  The  counterfeiter 
might  be  within  a  dozen  feet  of  him.  He  might  be 
even  closer.  Kestner  might  reach  out  a  hand  and 
suddenly  find  his  waiting  enemy  within  touch.  Noth- 
ing could  be  certain,  in  that  engulfing  darkness.  All 


264  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Kestner  knew  was  that  the  other  man  was  there,  be- 
tween the  same  imprisoning  walls  as  himself,  waiting, 
watching,  motionless,  confronting  him  with  a  stoic 
campaign  of  inactivity,  an  ordeal  of  suspended  ac- 
tion. 

That  suspension  of  action  was  even  harder  on 
Kestner  than  on  his  enemy,  for  Lambert  was  inured 
to  the  periodic  quiescence  of  the  fugitive.  He  had 
always  faced  danger,  as  an  outlaw,  and  under  the 
strain  and  stress  of  undefined  pursuers  had  acquired 
fortitude.  As  a  criminal  he  had  always  been  sur- 
rounded by  some  vague  and  unknown  menace,  never 
knowing  from  what  quarter  the  arm  of  the  law  might 
suddenly  reach.  And  he  had  adjusted  himself  to  these 
indeterminate  apprehensions*  He  bad  grown  rec- 
onciled to  the  tedium  of  prolonged  concealment. 

But  with  Kestner  it  was  different.  AJS  an  officer 
of  constituted  authority  he  had  been  taught  to  move 
promptly  and  to  act  decisively.  He  had  always  been 
the  aggressor,  the  pursuer.  His  nerves  were  the 
nerves  of  the  beagle.  He  had  always  run  with  the 
hounds.  He  had  never  been  schooled  in  this  rabbit- 
like  trick  of  skulking  motionless  in  protective  shadows. 
He  hated  the  dark.  And  it  was  beginning  to  tell  on 
him. 

He  wondered  how  much  longer  it  would  have  to 
last.  The  quietness  seemed  to  manacle  him,  limb  by 
limb.  He  had  never  dreamed  that  silence  could  be- 
come such  a  torture.  He  knew  that  sound  would 
spell  peril,  and  yet  he  prayed  for  sound  in  some  form 
or  another.  He  knew  that  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, lonely  as  it  was  along  that  South  Brooklyn 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  265 

waterfront,  there  must  be  companionable  little  noises, 
the  whisper  of  the  tide  running  between  the  piles  un- 
der the  wharf,  far-off  ferry-engines  churning  from 
the  Battery  to  Staten  Island,  steel  shovels  clanging 
deep  in  the  stoke-holes  of  rusty  freighters  lying  at 
their  slips.  Across  that  distant  cobweb  of  steel 
known  as  Brooklyn  Bridge,  he  remembered  electric 
trains  were  roaring  and  surface  cars  were  clattering. 
Above  that  huddled  island  of  unrest,  beyond  the 
bridge  again,  where  even  midnight  could  not  fix  the 
seal  of  silence,  must  swarm  a  multitudinous  crown  of 
noises,  like  bees  above  a  hive.  But  none  of  these  came 
to  that  locked  and  shuttered  wharf -shed  along  a  lonely 
and  sleep-wrapped  waterfront  where  Lambert  and  the 
man  who  sought  him  were  prisoners. 

Kestner  fell  to  wondering  how  many  hours  they 
had  been  shut  in  there  together,  and  how  much  longer 
the  darkness  would  last.  He  had  no  means  of  judg- 
ing the  time.  He  dramatized  the  coming  of  morn- 
ing, picturing  to  himself  the  first  faint  inkling  of  the 
first  faint  glimmer  of  grey.  He  could  imagine  the 
anxiety  with  which  that  vague  glimmer  would  be 
watched,  the  tensity  with  which  he  and  his  enemy  would 
peer  at  each  other  through  the  slowly  lifting  trans- 
lucent veil,  the  breathlessness  with  which  the  first  ac- 
tual light  would  be  welcomed,  the  suddenness  with 
which  the  inevitable  encounter  would  then  begin. 

That  encounter,  he  knew,  was  bound  to  take  place. 
Eambert,  after  that  night,  could  never  get  away. 
Lambert,  indeed,  could  have  no  immediate  wish  to  get 
away.  That  counterfeiter,  without  scratcher  or 
breaker  or  colleague  left,  would  never  think  of  fleeing 


266  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

from  New  York  and  leaving  behind  him  those  three 
millions  in  bank-notes,  still  sealed  in  their  oil-tins  so 
artfully  weighted  with  sand  and  cork-dust.  And 
those  oil-tins  could  not  be  opened  and  moved  with- 
out Kestner's  knowledge. 

No,  Lambert  was  there,  breathing  the  same  heavy 
odour  of  baled  Morocco  leather  and  spices  and  tropi- 
cal fruits  shot  through  with  the  homelier  ammoniacal 
smell  from  the  planking  where  countless  draught- 
horses  had  stood.  He  was  there  on  the  lonely  fringe 
of  the  great  city  from  which  he  had  fled ;  and  he  was 
there,  waiting,  watching,  knowing  that  the  time  for 
finalities  could  not  long  be  delayed. 

But  the  wait  seemed  an  endless  one. 

Kestner  found  relief  in  studiously  rehearsing  in  his 
own  mind  each  step  that  had  led  up  to  the  present 
situation.  He  recalled  Lambert's  flight  from  the 
room  in  the  shooting-gallery  building,  the  talk  with 
Burke  the  gun-runner,  the  latter's  promise  to  get  him 
and  his  three  million  in  counterfeit  aboard  the 
Laminian  and  in  three  days  off  for  South  America. 

He  remembered  Burke's  suggestion  as  to  Whitey 
McKensic,  the  water-front  junkie  and  river-pirate 
ready  for  anything  from  "  milking "  coffee-bags  in 
transit  on  their  lighters  to  stealing  coal  from  the 
Canarsie  barges.  This  same  Whitey  was  to  pick  up 
two  or  three  of  his  wharf-rat  friends.  He  was  given 
money  to  hire  a  boat  and  also  to  purchase  an  inch 
auger  of  the  best  tempered  steel.  Then  when  the 
tide  was  right  Whitey  was  to  slip  in  under  the  Saltus 
Pier,  with  his  motor  muffled  and  his  lights  quenched. 
Then  he  was  to  take  his  auger  and  with  that  comparar 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  267 

tively  noiseless  tool  he  was  to  cut  out  a  square  of  the 
flooring  big  enough  to  admit  a  man's  body.  Through 
that  hole  they  were  to  carry  off  Lambert  and  his 
illicit  paper,  leaving  him  aboard  the  Lammian  before 
daylight  crept  over  the  lower  Bay. 

But  Romano  and  his  three  federal  confederates 
had  been  tipped  off  as  to  Whitey's  intentions.  They 
were  to  shadow  that  gang  of  wharf-rats  and  at  the 
right  moment  intercept  them  and  hold  them,  await- 
ing Kestner's  instructions.  And  Romano  could  be 
depended  on. 

Romano  had  to  be  depended  on,  for  just  before  the 
ponderous  doors  of  the  Saltus  wharf-shed  had  swung 
shut  for  the  night  a  "  gay-cat  "  acting  for  Lambert 
had  appeared  with  the  forged  order  from  the  Saltus 
offices  in  Bowling  Green.  There  had  been  a  dispute 
between  this  gay-cat  and  the  thick-headed  watchman, 
ending  in  an  angry  visit  to  the  telephone  in  the  little 
pier-office.  The  watchman  had  triumphed  and  the 
gay-cat  had  promptly  taken  his  departure.  Yet  the 
manoeuvre  had  proved  successful,  for  in  the  mean- 
time Lambert  himself  had  slipped  quietly  into  the 
wharf-shed  and  secreted  himself  in  its  shadowy  re- 
cesses. 

Three  minutes  later  a  trucking  team  had  thundered 
in  over  the  worn  planking.  From  the  truck  itself  a 
piano-crate  —  duly  labelled  and  consigned  for  for- 
eign parts  —  had  been  promptly  dumped  beside  a 
pile  of  lemon-crates  from  Sicily.  There  had  been 
some  words  between  the  watchman  and  the  truck- 
driver,  the  former  announcing  his  intention  of  not 
waiting  all  night  before  locking  up.  So  the  team 


268  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

had  turned  about  and  thundered  out  again,  and  the 
great  doors  had  swung  shut. 

But  during  that  tumult  of  sound  a  strange  thing 
had  taken  place.  In  the  darkness  of  the  wharf-shed 
the  cover  of  that  piano-crate  had  apparently  taken 
on  life,  had  quietly  and  silently  opened,  as  though  it 
were  a  huge  bivalve.  And  from  that  mouth-like  ori- 
fice, inch  by  inch  and  with  infinite  precaution, 
a  human  figure  had  sidled  out.  Then,  having  cau- 
tiously replaced  the  cover,  this  figure  had  slipped  back 
into  the  deeper  shadows  between  the  pungent  tiers 
of  crated  lemons. 

It  had  had  its  discomforts,  that  hurried  journey  in 
a  cramped  piano-crate,  for  all  its  eighteen  inches  of 
excelsior  padding.  But  Kestner  had  not  given  that 
feature  of  the  plan  much  thought.  For  he  had  been 
satisfied  with  the  knowledge  that  he  and  Lambert  were 
to  be  locked  together  in  that  silent  warehouse,  and 
could  remain  there  without  interruption. 


VH 

KESTKEB-  still  waited.  But  he  moved  a  little,  to 
relieve  the  ache  in  his  knees.  As  before,  he  did  so 
with  the  utmost  care  and  deliberation,  straightening 
his  legs  almost  imperceptibly,  inch  by  studious  inch, 
moving  his  stockinged  feet  out  experimentally,  ten- 
tatively, interrogatively,  so  there  might  be  no  betray- 
ing creak  of  the  knee-joint.  His  shoes  he  had  long 
since  removed.  And  in  the  heavy  planking  under  him, 
luckily,  there  was  little  chance  of  a  floor  squeak. 

He  moved  slowly  and  softly,  yet  it  was  laborious 
enough  to  bring  a  sweat  to  his  straining  body.  Then 
he  sat  tailor-wise,  leaning  slightly  forward,  listening 
again. 

Out  of  the  infinite  stillness  a  small  trouble  had  in- 
sinuated itself  on  his  consciousness.  At  first  he 
thought  it  was  the  sound  of  his  own  laboured  inhala- 
tions. Then  he  attributed  it  to  the  blood-pressure  in 
his  head.  Yet  the  next  second  he  was  leaning  fur- 
ther forward  and  listening  more  intently. 

On  his  over-sensitized  aural  nerves  that  small  trou- 
ble still  impressed  itself.  He  could  neither  explain 
nor  define  it.  Then  a  running  and  ramifying  thrill 
of  apprehension  swept  through  his  stiffened  body. 
He  rolled  slowly  and  cautiously  over  on  one  hip,  and 
as  slowly  lowered  his  torso  until  the  side  of  his  head 
was  flat  against  the  planking  on  which  he  had  been 

269 


270  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

sitting.  He  lay  there  for  a  second  or  two,  with  his 
ear  pressed  flat  against  the  heavy  boards.  Then  he 
raised  his  head,  listened,  and  snaked  his  body  slowly 
forward,  stopping  again  to  press  an  ear  against  the 
planking  before  continuing  that  silent  and  erratic 
advance. 

He  was  nosing  about  one  particular  plank,  by  this 
time,  like  a  French  hound  in  quest  of  its  underground 
truffles,  moving  back  and  forth  and  listening  and 
again  and  again  quietly  cupping  his  ear  against  the 
rough  wood. 

He  could  now  hear  the  sound  quite  distinctly,  a 
continuous  muffled  rasp,  as  faint  as  the  slide  of  a 
blacksnake  over  dead  leaves.  He  kept  passing  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  delicately  along  the  surface  of  the 
plank  over  which  he  leaned,  questioningly,  as  though 
the  oak  were  inscribed  with  the  raised  lettering  of 
an  alphabet  for  the  blind  and  he  were  intent  on  spell- 
ing out  some  answer  to  the  enigma. 

He  was  rewarded  by  the  sudden  small  sounds  of 
splintering  wood,  no  louder  than  the  crack  of  a 
strained  match-stalk.  Moving  forward  a  few  inches, 
he  again  fell  to  fingering  the  floor-surface.  For  the 
second  time  an  involuntary  thrill  sped  through  his 
body.  His  hand  had  fallen  on  the  revolving  sharp 
steel-point  of  an  auger  boring  up  through  the  wharf- 
floor. 

He  knew  then,  in  a  flash,  that  his  plans  had  gone 
astray,  that  Whitey  McKensic  and  his  men  had  in 
some  manner  evaded  Romano,  that  they  were  there  with 
their  boat,  and  that  in  less  than  half  an  hour's  time 
they  would  have  a  passage-way  cut  up  through  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  271 

floor-planking  and  would  be  in  touch  with  Lam- 
bert. 

Kestner  thought  quickly.  He  was  not  afraid  of 
those  newcomers.  He  could,  in  a  way,  handle  them 
one  by  one  as  they  came  up  through  the  floor.  But 
that  could  not  be  done  silently.  That  would  betray 
his  position.  It  would  give  an  advantage  to  his 
enemy.  And  Kestner's  one  fear  now  was  that  Lam- 
bert might  get  away,  that  something  might  intervene 
between  him  and  the  fugitive  and  his  capture.  And 
it  was  too  late  to  waste  energy  on  interlopers,  and 
too  late  to  be  sidetracked  from  his  one  end  in  life. 

Kestner's  first  move  was  as  odd  as  it  was  prompt. 
He  drew  out  his  revolver,  feeling  with  his  left  hand 
along  the  plank-face  for  that  ever-turning  point  of 
steel.  When  he  had  found  it  he  caught  his  fire-arm 
by  the  barrel  and  the  grip,  holding  it  horizontally  and 
pressing  heavily  down  on  the  point  where  the  auger 
was  emerging  from  the  pierced  wood.  He  held  the 
hardened  metal  of  the  stock  firmly  against  the  cutting 
edge  of  that  revolving  auger,  knowing  that  a  few 
turns  would  blunt  the  edge  beyond  repair.  But  he 
made  sure  of  his  job;  he  wanted  that  bit  so  that  it 
could  never  again  eat  its  way  through  four  inches  of 
oak. 

Then  he  sat  back,  trying  to  place  his  position  in 
the  wharf-shed.  He  guardedly  felt  the  seams  of  the 
floor,  reviewed  each  movement  he  had  made  during  his 
last  advance,  and  concluded  he  had  progressed  some 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  towards  the  water-front  end  of 
the  pier.  At  the  other  end,  he  knew,  stood  the  small 
office-room  with  the  telephone.  And  Kestner  felt  that 


272  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

his  best  chance  lay  in  getting  to  that  telephone  and 
calling  for  help. 

But  it  would  have  to  be  a  soundless  journey,  and 
a  laborious  one.  It  would  have  its  dangers,  yet  they 
would  have  to  be  faced.  There  was  a  grave  mis-step 
to  be  corrected.  And  the  sooner  that  call  went  out, 
Kestner  knew,  the  safer  he  would  be. 

He  started  on  his  journey,  patiently,  laboriously, 
grimly.  He  kept  reminding  himself  that  above  all 
things  no  sound  must  be  made.  He  knew  that  at  any 
moment  he  might  come  into  sudden  collision  with  the 
watching  and  waiting  Lambert.  He  could  not  forget 
that  any  unexpected  contact  with  a  bale  of  mer- 
chandise or  a  pine  box  end  or  an  unconsidered  scrap  of 
paper  or  twig  of  wood  might  betray  his  presence. 
A  mere  bone-creak  might  spoil  his  plan.  A  garment 
rustle  might  announce  his  whereabouts. 

Kestner  went  forward,  inch  by  inch,  in  the  strained 
attitude  of  a  runner  awaiting  the  starter's  pistol- 
crack.  . 

His  feet  had  become  tentacles,  groping  and  ques- 
tioning for  noiseless  contact.  His  outstretched  fin- 
gers were  converted  into  vibrating  antennae,  poised 
and  extended  for  the  transmission  of  the  slightest  mes- 
sage of  warning.  He  moved  slowly  through  the  en- 
gulfing blackness,  seeming  to  push  it  aside  as  though 
it  were  something  material  and  muffling.  A  snow- 
flake  fell  no  more  softly  than  did  those  stockinged 
feet.  Each  foot-fall  seemed  an  experiment  of  vital 
importance,  each  forward  shift  of  the  body  became 
an  adventure  fraught  with  the  direst  peril.  Yet  he 
continued  to  advance,  step  by  caressing  step,  veering 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  273 

his  course  about  an  occasional  obstacle,  sounding  for 
his  channel,  shying  away  from  each  danger-spot  as 
a  careful  pilot  shies  away  from  a  shoal-buoy. 

When  he  came  to  the  empty  piano-crate  he  felt 
like  a  swimmer  who  had  reached  an  island  of  deliver- 
ance. That  gave  him  something  on  which  to  base  a 
new  reckoning  of  his  position.  It  brought  him  as- 
surance, as  the  voice  of  an  old  friend  might,  and 
permitted  him  to  breathe  more  freely.  So  far  all  had 
been  well.  And  every  foot  that  he  covered  meant  a 
further  guarantee  of  safety. 

He  began  his  journey  again,  astonished  by  the  ap- 
parent length  of  the  pier,  wondering  how  wrong  he 
might  also  be  in  his  reckoning  of  time,  arguing  with 
himself  that  an  hour  or  two  of  mental  agony  might 
easily  prolong  itself  into  what  seemed  a  whole  night. 
He  had  heard  of  such  cases. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  little  past  midnight,  and 
in  his  torturing  anxiety  he  had  translated  minutes 
into  hours,  just  as  during  that  stealthy  advance  to- 
wards the  pier-end  he  had  accepted  his  travels  as 
something  which  should  have  carried  him  into  mid- 
ocean,  as  something  which  seemed  to  have  no  begin- 
ning and  no  end.  But  he  kept  on,  doggedly,  de- 
terminedly, unceasingly. 

He  kept  on  until  his  extended  fingers  came  in  con- 
tact with  the  sheet-iron  covering  of  a  side-wall.  He 
felt  noiselessly  along  this  wall  until  he  had  groped  his 
way  to  what  seemed  the  door  he  wanted.  Then  came 
the  hardest  part  of  his  night's  work.  For  that  door 
was  locked,  he  found,  as  he  let  his  fingers  caress  the 
huge  knob  and  turn  it  with  incalculable  slowness  so 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

that  no  click  of  the  latch  might  betray  his  movements. 
And  to  open  it  meant  much  delicate  work  with  the 
"  spider  "  and  the  five  "  skeletons  "  which  he  always 
carried,  the  same  as  he  carried  his  watch  and  his 
cigar-case. 

That  new  task  would  have  to  be  noiseless,  and  to 
render  it  so  meant  much  nursing  of  naked  metal,  un- 
counted cautious  movements  of  the  fingers,  slow  and 
tentative  pryings  and  turnings  of  delicately  insinuated 
steel  flanges,  careful  withdrawals  and  stowing  away 
of  unneeded  metallic  objects  which  must  never  be  al- 
lowed to  clink  together. 

But  he  conquered  the  lock,  in  time.  Then,  with 
equally  studious  precaution,  he  slowly  slipped  inside 
and  closed  the  door  after  him.  Then  the  explora- 
tions began  anew. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  fire-proofed  chamber, 
as  bald  as  a  tomb  and  quite  as  dark.  He  could  even 
touch  the  metal  roof,  and  set  in  its  centre  found  one 
electric-light  bulb.  But  this  he  could  not  use,  much 
as  he  wanted  to.  For  the  emptiness  of  that  little 
iron-clad  room  was  a  puzzle  to  him.  Then  he  real- 
ised that  it  must  have  been  equipped  as  a  strong  box, 
a  treasure  vault,  for  holding  valuables  in  transit. 

But  he  had  little  time  to  give  it  thought.  His  task 
was  still  to  reach  the  telephone.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  lost  time,  when  time  might  be  precious. 
He  stood  studying  the  matter  out.  Then  he  con- 
cluded the  pier-office  must  be  somewhere  close  beside 
this  treasure-room.  So  he  emerged  again  into  the 
more  open  space  of  the  high-arched  pier-shed,  listen- 
ing and  staring  through  the  blackness  to  make  sure 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  275 

the  light  was  not  coming  to  put  an  end  to  all  his 
plan. 

But  the  velvety  blackness  was  still  unbroken,  and 
again  he  had  to  exercise  the  greatest  care  as  he  groped 
on  along  the  wall,  feeling  and  padding  about  for 
the  office  door. 

He  came  to  that  door,  at  last,  and  let  a  finger  light 
as  thistle-down  caress  and  explore  the  knob.  Then 
he  permitted  his  entire  hand  slowly  to  encompass  it, 
slowly  turn  it,  and  with  steady  but  guarded  pressure 
determine  whether  or  not  it  was  locked. 

To  his  joy  he  found  it  was  not. 

He  swung  the  door  inward,  inch  by  inch.  He  was 
breathing  only  with  the  upper  area  of  his  lungs  as 
he  waited,  to  make  sure  there  would  be  no  squeak  or 
whine  of  rusty  hinges.  It  was  with  equal  precaution 
and  slowness  that  he  closed  the  door  again.  Then 
he  felt  his  way  inward,  circling  about  until  he  came 
to  the  edge  of  the  desk,  and  exploring  it  with  question- 
ing fingers. 

He  found  the  cloth-covered  telephone  wires  and 
traced  them  up  to  the  transmitter  stand.  With  the 
most  scrupulous  care  he  took  up  that  transmitter  and 
lifted  it  to  the  floor.  Then  he  silenced  the  call-bell  with 
his  pocket  handkerchief,  tying  it  about  the  clapper  to 
make  all  sound  impossible.  Then  he  stood  in  thought, 
for  a  moment  or  two,  before  groping  his  way  back  to 
the  office  wall.  There  his  busy  fingers  again  took  up 
their  exploration  work,  as  he  circled  the  room  and 
stopped  meditatively  when  he  came  to  an  overcoat 
hanging  on  a  hook  beside  a  paper-littered  cabinet-top. 
It  was  a  heavy  overcoat,  apparently  of  pilot-cloth, 


376  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

and  it  was  lined  with  rabbit-skin  sadly  worn  at  the 
edges,  and  rent  in  the  seams. 

Kestner  possessed  himself  of  that  overcoat.  Then 
he  lowered  himself  to  the  floor,  sinking  first  on  one 
knee  and  then  on  the  other,  slowly,  so  there  should 
be  no  shadow  of  a  concussion-sound  or  bone-creak. 
Then  he  leaned  forward,  with  his  finger-tips  on  the 
floor-boards,  letting  his  body  descend  inch  by  inch 
until  his  face  was  close  to  the  wharf-planks  and  his 
outstretched  hands  were  within  touch  of  the  trans- 
mitter-stand. 

He  first  lifted  this  stand  until  it  was  directly  in 
front  of  him,  close  to  his  face.  Then  he  slowly  drew 
the  heavy  pilot-cloth  coat  up  over  his  body  until  it 
covered  both  the  transmitter  and  his  head.  He 
draped  it  cautiously  about  him,  as  a  camera-man  cov- 
ers his  instrument,  making  sure  no  vent  was  left. 
Then  he  slowly  lifted  the  receiver  from  its  hook,  placed 
it  to  his  ear,  and  with  his  lips  almost  touching  the 
diaphragm  of  the  transmitter  whispered  his  number 
to  Central.  From  that  little  tented  corner  of  black- 
ness he  was  able  to  call  for  Wilsnach  and  help.  For 
Central  had  heard  and  given  him  his  connection. 

"  Wilsnach ! "  he  whispered  into  the  tiny  cave  of 
metal  against  his  lip. 

There  came  a  faltering  and  somewhat  puzzled 
"  Hello  ?  "  in  response  to  his  whisper. 

"  Wilsnach,  do  you  hear  me?  " 

"  Hello !  "  repeated  the  answering  voice. 

"  Don't  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"No!     Speak  up!" 

"  This  is  Kestner,"  continued  the  whisper  from  un- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  277 

der  the  muffling  pilot-cloth  coat.  At  last  the  man  at 
the  far  end  of  the  line  appeared  to  comprehend  the 
situation. 

"Kestner,   is   it  you?     Yes  —  yes  —  go   on!" 

"  I  want  help,  and  I  want  it  quick !  " 

As  never  before  there  flashed  home  to  the  whispering 
man  the  miracle  of  the  telephone,  the  renewed  mystery 
of  a  human  voice  being  projected  along  its  tenuous 
nervous  system  of  countless  wires.  He  suddenly  re- 
awakened to  the  magic  of  thus  bringing  a  far-distant 
voice  winging  along  its  rivulet  of  metal,  of  guarding 
and  conserving  and  directing  that  voice  through  all 
the  beleaguering  uproars  of  a  great  city  and  leading 
it  safely  home  to  his  own  waiting  ear. 

"  Where  are  you?  " 

"  On  the  Saltus  Pier  in  South  Brooklyn.  I  can't 
talk.  I'm  shut  in  here  with  Lambert.  His  friends 
are  cutting  their  way  into  the  other  end  of  the  pier." 

"  I  understand." 

"Get  here  quick!" 

That  was  all  Kestner  needed  to  say.  The  ever  de- 
pendable Wilsnach,  he  knew,  would  be  away  from  that 
telephone  before  the  musty-smelling  pilot-cloth  coat 
could  be  thrown  aside  from  his  own  head. 


VIII 

KESTNER,  as  he  emerged  from  that  unsighted  pier- 
office  into  the  cavernous  gloom  of  the  equally  un- 
lighted  warehouse,  knew  there  was  no  time  to  be  wasted. 
He  felt  the  need  for  prompt  action.  Yet  he  was 
still  undecided  as  to  what  line  this  action  should  fol- 
low and  as  to  what  form  it  could  take. 

There  was  one  danger-zone,  however,  of  which  he 
could  be  sure.  That  was  the  spot  where  Whitey  Mc- 
Kensic  had  attempted  to  bore  his  way  up  through  the 
wharf-planking.  Whitey  might  possess  resources  un- 
known to  Kestner,  and  the  sooner  that  spot  was  in- 
vestigated the  better.  Daylight,  Kestner  felt  con- 
vinced, could  not  be  far  off. 

He  allowed  no  impatience  of  mind,  however,  to 
interfere  with  his  earlier  demand  for  caution.  He 
groped  his  blind  way  back  along  the  warehouse  as 
stealthily  and  as  silently  as  he  had  first  advanced  from 
its  depths.  Once  more  his  outstretched  fingers  became 
antennae.  Still  again  his  fastidiously  exploring  stock- 
inged feet  became  tentacles,  feeling  ahead  of  the  ever- 
shrinking  body  that  followed  them. 

Then  his  advance  came  to  a  stop. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  tentacles  drew  back,  as  natural 
in  its  reaction  as  the  recoil  of  an  insect's  feeler,  for 
it  had  come  in  contact  with  something  unexpected, 

something    unexplained.     Kestner,    chilling    a    little 

278 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  279 

through  his  moist  body  at  the  discovery,  slowly  low- 
ered himself  and  explored  the  unknown  object. 

There,  directly  in  his  path,  he  found  a  pair  of 
shoes.  He  examined  them  thoughtfully,  uppers  and 
sole,  as  a  blind  man  might.  And  he  knew  they  were 
not  his  own.  Close  beside  them,  a  moment  later,  he 
found  a  discarded  coat.  He  felt  it  over,  carefully, 
slipping  a  silent  finger  into  its  pockets,  burying  his 
nose  in  its  folds,  and  sniffing  at  it  as  a  hound  might. 
Even  before  he  held  it  up  and  made  sure  of  its  di- 
mensions, of  its  length  of  body  and  width  of  shoulder, 
he  knew  the  coat  belonged  to  Lambert. 

He  knew  then  that  his  enemy  was  still  there ;  and  it 
was  fair  to  assume  he  was  not  asleep.  That  enemy, 
in  fact,  was  as  prepared  for  emergency  as  was  his 
pursuer.  He  stood  as  ready  for  silent  retreat  or  ad- 
vance as  did  Kestner  himself. 

The  man  with  the  antennag-like  fingers  stood  erect, 
peering  about  the  blackness  that  engulfed  him.  He 
seemed  to  sniff  danger  in  the  air,  as  an  animal  up- 
wind sniffs  pursuit.  Instinctively  he  reached  down  to 
make  sure  that  his  revolver  was  in  place.  Then  he 
buttoned  his  coat,  and  once  more  stooping  forward 
like  a  track-runner,  moved  guardedly  on.  He  began 
to  breathe  more  freely,  digesting  his  discovery,  ad- 
justing himself  to  the  newer  condition  of  things.  But 
he  kept  warning  himself  to  be  cautious,  to  feel  his  way 
carefully,  to  let  no  betraying  sound  announce  the  secret 
of  his  advance. 

Then  all  thought  stopped,  with  the  quickness  of  a 
lightning  flash.  His  next  movement  was  unvolitioned 
and  spasmodic.  It  was  a  movement  of  sharp  recoil. 


280  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Had  his  outstretched  fingers  suddenly  touched  a  red- 
hot  plate  of  metal  he  could  not  have  moved  more 
quickly. 

But  it  was  nothing  like  a  plate  of  metal,  that  some- 
thing which  he  had  touched.  It  was  a  human  hand, 
like  his  own.  His  groping  fingers  had  momentarily 
become  involved  with  another  set  of  fingers,  out- 
stretched like  his  own.  Those  distended  antennae 
had  locked  together  loathsomely,  as  the  feelers  of 
submarine  monsters  might,  had  clutched  and  had  sud- 
denly withdrawn,  each  cluster  telegraphing  to  the 
brain  behind  them  the  imminence  of  danger,  the  need 
for  action. 

That  action,  on  Kestner's  part,  became  one  of  un- 
couth acrobatics.  It  sent  him  leaping  and  side-step- 
ping backwards,  in  a  series  of  jerks  as  quick  and  unco- 
ordinated as  the  leaps  of  a  beheaded  pullet.  Then  he 
stood  for  a  second,  silent,  poised  and  motionless, 
bayoneted  with  a  tingle  of  horripilated  nerves. 

He  seemed  to  know  what  was  coming.  He  saw  the 
quick  stab  of  flame  at  the  same  moment  that  the  high- 
roofed  building  reverberated  with  the  thunder  of  the 
revolver-shot.  Lambert  was  using  his  gun.  He  was 
forcing  the  issue  by  suddenly  raking  the  silence  about 
him.  And  he  was  keeping  on  the  move  as  he  fired, 
charging  from  side  to  side,  craftily  changing  his  posi- 
tion after  each  flash. 

Kestner  crouched  there,  watching  those  flashes,  all 
but  deafened  by  the  echoing  tumult  after  so  many 
hours  of  silence.  He  wanted  Lambert,  and  he  wanted 
him  at  any  cost.  That  was  the  one  vague  over-tone 
to  all  consciousness.  Yet  his  first  definite  thought 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  281 

was  as  to  the  absurdity  of  standing  there  passive. 
The  second  lucid  impression  to  enter  his  mind  was 
a  self-warning  about  seeking  shelter.  Quarters  were 
too  close  for  firing  such  as  that,  with  bullets  rico- 
chetting  and  whistling  about  him  and  the  smell  of 
powder-smoke  stinging  in  his  nostrils.  It  was  a 
fusillade  from  a  running  and'  ever-shifting  adversary, 
from  now  one  point  and  now  another,  taking  on  the 
menace  of  a  general  attack.  It  seemed  more  like 
the  assault  of  a  small  army. 

Yet  Kestner  was  still  untouched  by  any  thought  of 
personal  fear.  What  he  felt  was  more  relief  at  sud- 
den sound  and  movement.  It  still  puzzled  him  a  little 
that  this  sound  could  be  so  tumultuous  and  the  move- 
ment so  frenzied.  He  even  wondered,  for  a  moment, 
if  he  were  not  being  confronted  by  more  than  one 
enemy,  if  Lambert's  confederates  had  not  indeed  j  oined 
him  in  that  running  attack. 

Then  a  greater  wonder  possessed  him,  for  he  found 
himself  wheeling  half  about  and  groping  in  the  air 
with  his  hands,  like  a  skater  struggling  to  recover  his 
balance.  He  felt  a  sting  of  pain  somewhere  below 
the  waist.  He  could  not  tell  where,  beyond  the  fact 
that  the  sting  had  merged  into  a  feeling  not  unlike 
a  burn  and  was  on  the  left  side.  Then  with  a  sense 
of  shock,  he  realised  what  it  meant. 

Kestner  knew  that  he  was  shot. 

What  surprised  him  was  the  discovery  that  a  wound 
could  be  received  and  yet  cause  so  little  pain.  He 
remembered,  however,  that  loss  of  blood  often  enough 
implied  loss  of  consciousness.  And  he  could  not  af- 
ford to  take  chances.  Yes,  he  was  bleeding,  some- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

where  along  the  hip-bone.  He  could  feel  it.  His 
trouser-leg  was  wet  and  warm.  It  might  be  more  se- 
rious than  he  imagined.  And  he  had  to  be  sure  of  his 
case.  Whatever  happened,  Lambert  was  not  to  get 
away.  So  quietly  and  deliberately  Kestner  reached 
down  for  his  revolver. 

He  began  to  fire,  falling  back  and  dodging  from 
quarter  to  quarter  as  he  shot.  That  feverish  move- 
ment exhilarated  him.  He  found  a  vast  relief  in  ac- 
tion merely  as  action.  To  be  able  to  do  something 
was  now  a  deliverance.  And  he  knew  that  the  end  of 
the  drama  could  not  be  far  away. 

Yet  he  shot  deliberately,  always  aiming  low,  with 
nothing  to  guide  him  but  that  ever-shifting  ruby  flame- 
jet  arrowing  for  the  moment  out  of  the  blackness. 
Then,  as  he  strained  forward,  he  heard  the  sound  he 
had  been  hoping  for,  the  telltale  snap  of  a  trigger  on 
an  empty  cartridge-chamber. 

He  ran  forward  at  the  sound,  knowing  what  that  im- 
plied. It  meant  that  his  enemy's  ammunition  was 
exhausted.  It  meant  that  his  moment  for  closing  in 
on  that  enemy  had  arrived. 

He  heard  the  click  of  metal  against  metal,  close  be- 
fore him  in  the  darkness,  but  he  did  not  take  time  to 
reason  out  its  meaning.  He  raised  his  automatic  and 
fired  again,  still  aiming  low,  calculating  the  source  and 
central  point  of  that  one  guiding  sound. 

Then  he  stopped  short,  dropping  his  hand  to  his 
side,  for  a  quick  gasp  of  pain  had  come  to  his  ears, 
followed  by  a  low  and  half-moaning  cry  of  "  Oh,  my 
God!  "  Then  came  the  sound  of  a  body  falling  and 
threshing  for  a  moment  against  the  flooring. 

Then  the  silence  was  unbroken. 


IX 

KESTNER.  knew  what  the  sound  of  that  falling  body 
meant.  He  groped  his  way  forward  in  a  sudden  panic 
of  apprehension.  He  ran  back  and  forth  in  the  open 
spaces,  searching  for  the  spot  where  that  other  man 
must  surely  have  gone  down. 

Then  he  stopped  short  and  crouched  back,  listening, 
warned  by  some  whispering  sixth  sense,  remembering 
that  Lambert  had  long  since  proved  himself  a.  master 
of  trickery.  He  stood  there,  pondering  if  that  fall 
might  not  be  the  pretence  of  a  wily  enemy  to  gain 
time  enough  to  reload  a  revolver,  or  at  least  drag 
himself  silently  off  to  more  sheltered  quarters.  But 
he  could  be  sure  of  nothing. 

Kestner  decided  it  was  too  late  to  take  chances. 
That  echoing  tumult  would  only  too  quickly  bring  out- 
side interference.  And  he  wanted  nothing  to  come 
between  him  and  his  quarry.  Lambert  belonged  to 
him.  He  was  there  to  make  his  capture,  and  he  did 
not  intend  to  be  cheated  out  of  his  prisoner. 

Then  he  stopped  short,  astounded  by  his  own  stupid- 
ity, his  own  absence  of  resource.  Here  he  was  grop- 
ing about  in  utter  darkness  from  sheer  force  of  habit, 
when  he  had  matches  in  his  own  pocket.  There  was 
no  longer  need  for  secrecy.  What  he  wanted  now 
was  light.  What  he  had  to  have  was  light. 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a  match,  made  sure  of  the 
283 


284  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

dipped  end,  and  struck  it.  Just  what  happened  after 
that  Kestner  never  quite  knew. 

He  remembered  seeing  the  sudden  spurt  of  the  flame. 
Then  he  was  conscious  of  shock,  as  though  that  flame 
had  been  struck  in  the  midst  of  an  explosive  gas  and 
he  had  stood  facing  the  resultant  detonation. 

That  shock  carried  him  backward,  flinging  the  re- 
volver from  his  hand,  jolting  the  very  breath  out  of 
his  body.  He  was  sprawling  and  scrambling  and 
threshing  about  the  wharf -floor  before  he  fully  realised 
the  meaning  of  that  onslaught.  Lambert,  after  all, 
had  tricked  him. 

His:  enemy  had  feinted  and  snatched  at  a  pretence 
of  being  shot.  Under  cover  of  that  feint  he  had 
gathered  himself  together  and  waited  for  the  first 
sign  of  Kestner's  position.  Then  he  had  leaped  for 
him  out  of  the  darkness.  He  had  closed  in  on  him, 
with  the  antediluvian  fury  of  a  cave-man  cornered  in 
his  cave.  He  had  resolved  to  make  that  ultimate 
struggle  a  struggle  of  fang  and  nail  and  fist.  And 
now  they  were  on  the  wharf-floor,  locked  together  in 
the  darkness,  with  quick  gasps  and  grunts  from  each 
straining  and  contending  body. 

Lambert  was  the  bulkier  man  of  the  two,  Kestner  re- 
membered, and  in  some  ways  much  the  stronger  man. 
But  Kestner  had  the  advantage  of  youth.  And  there 
were  certain  things  the  lighter-bodied  man  had  learned 
in  his  earliest  days  in  the  Service.  He  had  long  since 
mastered  the  rudimentary  jiu-jitsu  tricks  of  a  voca- 
tion where,  in  contests,  manual  force  was  invariably 
the  final  arbiter.  His  police-rooky  training  had  also 
included  something  more  than  morning  pistol-practice 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  286 

and  "  strong-arm  "  artifices  and  first  aid  to  the  in- 
jured. It  had  taught  him  the  use  of  the  "  arm-twist " 
and  the  "  hip-throw,"  of  the  "  neck-hold  "  for  break- 
ing a  rear  attack  clutch,  of  the  "  leg-lock  "  for  pinning 
down  a  prisoner  so  that  a  captor's  hands  could  be 
free.  He  had  also  mastered  that  most  efficacious  ex- 
pedient of  thumb-pressure  on  the  nose,  that  torturing 
pressure,  on  the  thin  and  membranous  bones,  which 
could  so  promptly  break  a  waist-hold,  not  only 
by  engendering  a  pain  that  soon  became  unendurable 
but  also  by  compressing  an  air-passage  that  was  essen- 
tial to  life. 

That  was  the  trick  which  Kestner  thought  of  as  he 
felt  Lambert's  bear-like  pressure  about  his  constricted 
waist.  That  was  the  trick  on  which  he  hung  his  hopes, 
remembering  that  his  hip-wound,  however  slight,  might 
still  leave  him  weak  from  loss  of  blood.  It  was  not 
time,  he  inwardly  repeated,  for  half-measures. 

He  even  lost  ground  a  little  as  he  shifted  his  right 
arm,  but  this  did  not  cause  him  to  lose  hope.  Once 
his  hand  was  free,  even  as  the  struggle  along  the 
rough  boards  continued,  he  fought  to  gain  that  lean 
and  bony  face.  He  clutched  it  savagely,  as'  a  collie's 
jaw  clamps  on  a  chicken  bone.  He  felt  for  the  nose, 
placed  his  thumb,  locked  his  fingers,  and  applied  the 
pressure. 

He  knew  as  he  did  so,  that  it  was  then  merely  a 
matter  of  time.  Lambert  fought  with  fresh  fire, 
knowing  that  clutch  had  to  be  broken,  and  broken  soon. 
But  Kestner  hung  on  like  a  leech.  The  great  body 
under  him  lurched  and  tossed  and  heaved.  Together 
they  rolled  over  and  over.  Then  they  went  bodily 


286  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

against  a  wall  of  high-piled  lemon-crates.  That  tot- 
tering pillar  of  uneven  units  swayed  outward,  im- 
parted its  unsteadiness  to  other  columns,  and  then 
came  tumbling  down  in  an  ever-increasing  avalanche 
of  bales,  half-burying  the  two  figures  under  their 
weight,  adding  to  the  clamour  and  noise  and  confusion 
at  the  core  of  which  those  two  madly  threshing  bodies 
still  contended. 

Not  once  did  Kestner  loosen  his  clutch.  Not  once 
did  he  give  up.  Not  once  did  he  relieve  that  cruel 
pressure.  He  knew  that  this  movement  was  final,  that 
with  it  he  must  lose  or  win,  for  all  time.  And  he  had 
suffered  certain  indignities,  in  the  past,  which  did  not 
leave  him  over-tender  of  heart.  It  was  a  fight  to  a 
finish;  and  this  was  the  finish. 


KESTNEB  was  not  sure  of  his  man  until  he  felt  the 
stiffened  body  relax  and  the  arms  fall  away.  Then 
he  rolled  over,  heavily,  uncouthly,  so  that  he  stood 
straddling  the  other  figure,  one  knee  on  each  side  of 
the  heaving  lungs,  but  with  a  hand  held  close  on  the 
sinewy  throat. 

"  I've  got  you !  "  he  gasped,  a  little  drunkenly. 

He  still  held  the  great  throat  with  one  hand  while 
the  other  explored  the  shaking  body,  every  pocket  and 
garment,  to  see  that  nothing  was  there  which  ought 
not  to  be  there.  He  remembered,  to  his  sorrow,  that 
he  had  come  without  a  pair  of  hand-cuffs.  And  from 
now  on  he  would  take  no  risks.  He  had  learned  his 
lesson,  with  this  gang;  henceforth  he  would  act  as  an 
official,  and  not  as  an  individual.  And  the  Law  was 
relentless. 

"  It's  taken  a  long  time,  itambert,"  he  mumbled 
foolishly  through  the  darkness.  "  A  long  time  —  but 
now  I've  got  you!  " 

He  sat  back,  trying  to  think  connectedly,  his  body 
burning  with  its  innumerable  cuts  and  bruises.  His 
hip  was  still  bleeding  a  little.  But  he  knew  it  was  only 
a  flesh  wound.  He  could  also  feel  the  slow  trickle  of 
blood  down  one  side  of  his  stiffened  face.  What  trou- 
bled him  most  was  his  thirst.  He  would  have  given 

287 


288  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL' 

up  anything  but  Lambert  for  a  glass  of  ice-water. 
And  he  crouched  still  closer  over  his  captive. 

"  You're  mine,"  he  repeated.  The  thumb  of  his 
left  hand,  which  had  been  bitten  deep  by  the  other's 
teeth,  throbbed  and  smarted  with  pain.  His  lip  was 
torn.  His  breath  was  still  coming  in  gasps.  The 
ache  of  utter  weariness  was  in  all  his  limbs.  But  the 
ordeal  was  over,  and  he  sat  there  dully  and  foolishly 
happy. 

Then  he  tightened  his  hold  on  Lambert  and  lifted 
him  to  a  sitting  posture.  He  was  able  to  stagger  to 
his  feet  with  that  inert  enemy,  always  making  sure 
of  his  hold.  That  enemy's  arm,  as  Kestner  swayed 
with  him  there  for  a  moment  or  two,  was  swung  back 
and  twisted  oddly  behind  the  other's  waist.  Small- 
bodied  policemen  may  occasionally  be  observed  lead- 
ing huge  drunkards  stationward  by  much  the  same 
method. 

Kestner  knew  the  need  for  caution,  for  making  as- 
surance doubly  sure.  He  half-led  and  half-dragged 
his  captive  along  the  dark  length  of  the  wharf,  feeling 
his  way  as  he  went.  When  he  came  to  the  little  iron- 
clad storage-room,  he  opened  the  door  and  thrust 
Lambert  inside. 

"  And  that's  the  end,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  He 
relocked  the  door  with  his  skeleton-key.  This  took 
him  some  time,  for  he  was  a  little  dizzy  and  his  hands 
were  numb  and  his  fingers  shaking.  But  the  triumph 
faded  out  of  his  heart,  for  his  thoughts  at  that  inap- 
posite moment  went  back  to  Maura  Lambert. 

He  remembered  that  he  was  very  thirsty.  Then  he 
felt  through  his  pockets  for  a  cigar.  He  found  noth- 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  289 

ing  more  than  some  powdered  tobacco  leaves.  He 
thought  next  of  the  telephone.  But  he  decided  to  re- 
cover his  lost  revolver  first, —  and  also  his  shoes,  for 
his  feet  were  bruised  and  sore.  Yet  he  relished  least 
of  all  the  thought  of  being  there  without  a  gun. 

He  groped  weakly  about,  trying  to  strike  matches  on 
his  moist  trouser-leg.  When  he  came  to  an  open  crate 
of  olive-oil  tins  he  sat  down.  He  concluded  it  would 
be  best  to  rest  there  for  a  moment  or  two,  for  he  felt 
light-headed,  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  oak- 
flooring  under  him  was  gently  but  perceptibly  oscil- 
lating, heaving  back  and  forth  with  wave-like  regular- 
ity. He  laughed  a  little  as  he  leaned  forward  and 
turned  one  of  the  olive-oil  tins  over  and  over  in  his 
hands.  Then  he  was  dimly  conscious  of  the  doors  at 
the  wharf-end  being  swung  open,  of  hurrying  figures 
with  lanterns,  of  the  lightening  greyness  of  the  world 
beyond  the  wide  maw  of  the  door,  of  the  call  of  voices 
through  the  cavernous  gloom  of  the  wharf-shed  itself. 

He  leaned  back  against  the  crate,  wishing  he  had  a 
drink  of  water.  But  he  did  not  forget  that  Lambert 
was  safely  locked  in  the  little  iron-clad  storage-room 
next  to  the  pier-office. 

"  Are  you  all  right  now  ?  "  Wilsnach  was  asking  as 
he  handed  a  pocket-flask  back  to  a  second  stooping 
figure  beside  him. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  was  Kestner's  slowly  articulated 
answer,  after  blinking  for  a  moment  or  two  up  into 
the  face  of  the  ever-dependable  Wilsnach.  He  stared 
about  him  for  another  moment  or  two.  Then  he  re- 
membered. 


290  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

"  I've  got  Lambert,"  he  quietly  announced. 

He  turned  himself  about,  so  that  he  faced  the  end 
of  the  pier,  where  the  lights  were  clustering  round  the 
locked  door  of  the  storage-room.  Some  one,  he 
finally  comprehended,  was  pounding  on  that  door  with 
a  piece  of  timber.  Kestner  started  dizzily  but  de- 
terminedly to  his  feet. 

"  Get  that  man  away,"  was  his  jealous  command. 
"  I  don't  want  any  interference  with  my  prisoner." 

"  You've  got  him  in  there?  "  demanded  the  incred- 
ulous Wilsnach. 

"  I've  got  him  there,"  said  Kestner  as  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  began  to  pull  on  the  pair  of  shoes  which 
Wilsnach  had  dropped  beside  him. 

Wilsnach,  however,  did  not  wait  for  his  colleague. 
He  pulled  a  pair  of  nippers  from  his  pocket  as  he  ran. 
And  he  ran  straight  for  the  storage-room.  He  pushed 
through  the  group  with  the  lanterns  as  the  door  gave 
way.  Kestner  could  see  the  flicker  of  his  flash-light 
inside  the  small  chamber.  That  invasion  and  that  in- 
terrogative shaft  of  light  angered  him.  This  was  a 
personal  matter.  And  here  was  a  case  and  a  prisoner 
that  was  entirely  his  own. 

He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  stiff  and  sore.  Yet  he 
was  running  by  the  time  he  reached  the  pier-end  and 
the  lanterns  that  moved  in  and  out  through  the  small 
storage-room  door,  like  the  fire-flies  in  and  out  of  a 
cave-mouth.  He  fell  against  those  silent  figures,  push- 
ing them  promptly  aside.  When  he  reached  the  nar- 
row doorway  itself  he  found  Wilsnach  blocking  his  ad- 
vance. The  nippers  were  still  in  his  hand.  He 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  291 

looked  at  them  foolishly,  as  though  he  dreaded  meet- 
ing Kestner's  eye. 

Wilsnach's  face  seemed  heavy  and  colourless  in  the 
uncertain  light.  Yet  there  was  something  solemn  and 
authoritative  about  it  as  he  clutched  at  the  door- 
post. He  even  refused  to  move  aside  as  Kestner 
pushed  peevishly  against  him. 

"  I  want  that  man,"  proclaimed  the  Secret  Agent. 

Wilsnach  looked  at  him  almost  pityingly.  He 
looked  at  him  for  a  long  time. 

"  You  can't  have  him,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  What  ?  "  It  was  more  a  bark  than  a  definitely 
articulated  interrogation. 

Wilsnach  put  the  hand-cuffs  in  his  pocket  and 
caught  his  friend  by  the  arm,  just  below  the  elbow. 

"  He's  gone!  "  he  quietly  announced. 

"Gone?"  echoed  the  other,  now  tugging  to  free 
himself. 

"  You  can't  go  in,  old  man  !  "  contended  Wilsnach. 
"  It's  no  use !  " 

"  But  Lambert's  in  there !  " 

"  He's  there !     But  you  can't  get  him !  " 

"  I've  got  to  get  him !  " 

The  look  of  pity  went  out  of  Wilsnach's  face.  He 
seemed  to  lose  patience  at  the  other  man's  unlocked  for 
heaviness  of  mind.  But  he  began  to  push  Kestner 
back  from  the  doorway,  step  by  step. 

"  What  good  's  he  to  you,"  was  his  almost  angry 
demand,  "  when  he's  dead?  " 

It  was  Kestner's  turn  to  stare  a  long  time  at  his 
comrade  of  the  Paris  Office.  Carefully  every  detail 


392  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

and  condition  of  that  small  iron-clad  storage-room 
was  reviewed  in  Kestner's  incredulous  mind. 

"  He  can't  be,"  he  protested.  "  He  couldn't  do 
it!" 

"He  has  done  it!" 

"  But  there  was  no  way." 

"  There  was  a  light-bulb  in  the  roof.  He  unscrewed 
that  bulb  and  broke  it." 

"  Cut  his  throat  with  it,"  amplified  a  watchman  in  a 
bottle-green  overcoat,  as  he  pushed  out  through  the 
narrow  door.  His  face  had  taken  on  a  tinge  of  the 
same  colouring  as  his  raiment,  and  he  laughed  fool- 
ishly as  he  pushed  back  his  faded  cap.  "  Cut  his 
throat  with  it,  clean  as  a  whistle ! " 

Kestner  leaned  heavily  against  the  side-wall  cov- 
ered with  sheet-iron. 

"  Then  we've  lost  him !  "  he  slowly  acknowledged. 


KESTNER  crossed  to  his  hotel  window  and  looked 
out.  It  was  spring, —  and  spring  in  Rome.  Yet  his 
heart  was  heavy. 

The  City  of  the  Seven  Hills  lay  before  him,  bathed 
in  a  golden  mist.  Beyond  the  soft  tones  of  grey  and 
yellow  he  could  see  the  dark  squares  of  ilex  and  cy- 
press and  orange,  where  old  gardens  stood  amid  close- 
huddled  roofs  and  walls.  Off  towards  Monte 
Gianicala,  where  the  shadowy  valleys  were  already 
touched  with  their  purple  mists,  a  stately  row  of  stone- 
pines  reminded  Kestner  that  he  was  indeed  back  in  the 
city  of  his  youth. 

But  he  had  no  eye  for  its  beauty.  He  crossed  to 
the  writing-table  where  his  mail  of  the  past  month 
awaited  him.  He  sat  down  before  that  pile  of  duly 
assorted  letters  and  telegrams,  regarded  them  for  a 
meditative  moment  or  two,  and  then  began  his  task  of 
going  through  them.  He  did  so  slowly  and  method- 
ically. But  his  heart  sank  when  he  came  to  the  end. 
He  was  still  without  a  clue. 

It  had  been  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again, 
for  months,  the  same  wandering  from  place  to  place, 
the  same  fruitless  search,  the  same  patiently  put  ques- 
tions. And  the  answer  had  always  been  the  same. 
Maura  Lambert  had  escaped  him. 

A  recurring  sense  of  desolation  crept  over  Kestner 
295 


2%  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

as  he  unfolded  his  pocket-atlas  of  Europe  and  traced 
his  course  from  city  to  city.  He  had  journeyed  half 
way  around  the  world  in  search  of  a  woman,  and  he 
seemed  no  nearer  her  than  seven  long  months  ago 
when,  after  the  death  of  Lambert,  he  had  taken  up  the 
trail. 

He  had  first  gone  over  New  York,  every  nook  and 
cranny.  He  had  questioned  and  cross-questioned 
every  person  who  had  been  in  touch  with  Lambert  and 
his  little  band.  He  had  canvassed  taxicab  drivers 
and  ticket  sellers  and  station  guards.  He  had  inter- 
viewed pier  officials  and  booking  offices.  He  had 
studied  hotel  registers  and  Pullman  reservation  lists. 
He  had  sent  out  wires  to  every  city  worth  soliciting, 
calling  on  friends,  both  official  and  unofficial,  for  any 
hint  that  might  fall  into  their  hands. 

The  first  inkling  of  hope  had  come  in  a  night-let- 
ter from  Cody  of  the  American  Customs  at  Montreal. 
A  woman  answering  the  description  had  been  seen 
alighting  from  a  New  York  sleeper  at  Windsor  Sta- 
tion. A  "  news-butcher  '*  had  pointed  her  out  to  an 
idle  porter  as  being  "  some  queen."  She  wore  a  heavy 
veil,  and  she  was  travelling  alone.  The  porter  had 
helped  her  with  her  bags,  two  of  them.  But  she  had 
no  other  luggage.  That  was  as  much  as  either  Cody 
or  Chamberlain,  the  Chief  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 
Criminal  Investigation  Department,  had  been  able  to 
find  out.  But  the  wire  was  enough  to  take  Kestner  to 
Canada  by  the  next  train. 

There  the  hunt  began  over  again.  The  porter  in 
time  was  found.  But  he  had  no  knowledge  of  what 
hotel  the  "  queen  "  in  question  had  gone  to.  He  had 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  297 

merely  helped  her  to  a  cab.  Then  followed  a  round 
of  the  cab-drivers.  On  the  third  day  a  chauffeur  was 
found  who  vaguely  remembered  such  a  woman.  He 
had  driven  her  to  an  English  pension  known  as  Beaver 
Hall  Chambers,  on  Beaver  Hall  Hill. 

It  did  not  take  Kestner  long  to  authenticate  this. 
But  the1  lady,  who  called  herself  Miss  Farr,  had  left 
Beaver  Hall  Chambers  weeks  before.  She  had  paid 
a  full  week's  rent,  yet  she  had  stayed  only  three  days. 
The  one  hint  worth  while  was  that  given  by  a  chamber 
maid,  who  remembered  the  lady  telephoning  about 
painting  on  ivory. 

Kestner  promptly  looked  up  every  miniature  painter 
in  the  city.  He  eventually  unearthed  the  artist  to 
whom  Miss  Farr  had  applied  for  work.  She  had 
painted  for  a  week  in  this  Philips  Square  studio,  and 
had  proved  herself  clever  enough.  But  she  had  met  a 
Devonshire  woman,  an  invalid,  on  her  way  to  Banff, 
and  had  caught  at  the  chance  of  going  West,  as  a 
companion.  So  Kestner  went  on  to  Banff. 

She  had  been  in  Banff  for  weeks.  There  was  no 
doubt  of  that.  The  little  mountain  town  was  full  of 
impressions  of  her.  She  and  the  eccentric-minded 
English  patient  had  lived  much  in  the  open  air,  had 
ridden  and  fished  and  golfed  and  had  once  motored 
down  to  Calgary.  She  had  also  been  seen  sketching 
at  Devil's  Lake,  and  a  local  hotel  had  even  bought  a 
couple  of  her  water-colours. 

By  this  time  Kestner  knew  the  trail  was  genuine. 

He  followed  that  trail  up  to  Victoria.  There 
Maura  Lambert  and  her  patient  had  parted  company, 
the  invalid  being  joined  by  her  son  and  going  on  to 


298  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

Japan,  the  companion  for  some  unknown  reason  strik- 
ing eastward  again  as  far  as  Winnipeg.  From 
Winnipeg  she  had  gone  to  Chicago.  There,  Kestner 
found,  she  had  engaged  to  accompany  two  girl  stu- 
dents to  Paris,  sailing  from  Boston  on  a  ten  day 
steamer.  Then  Paris,  for  causes  that  could  not  be 
ascertained,  had  become  suddenly  undesirable  to  her. 
She  had  moved  on  to  Munich.  And  at  Munich  the 
trail  ended. 

Kestner  sat  absently  contemplating  his  atlas. 
Then  he  stared  as^absently  out  over  the  roofs  and  gar- 
dens and  hills  of  Rome.  Then  he  suddenly  wheeled 
about  in  his  chair,  his  trained  ear  advising  him  that 
some  one  was  opening  the  door  of  his  hotel  room. 

The  next  moment  his  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  for  he 
saw  a  young  woman  step  quickly  inside  and  as  quickly 
close  the  door  behind  her.  For  one  brief  second  he 
thought  it  was  Maura  Lambert  herself.  But  that  fool- 
ish flutter  of  hope  did  not  survive  his  quick  stare  of 
inquiry. 

He  found  himself  confronted  by  a  figure  more  pertly 
audacious,  more  casually  intimate,  than  that  of  Lam- 
bert's one-time  etcher  on  steel. 

They  regarded  each  other  for  a  silent  moment  or 
two.  Then  the  girl  spoke. 

"  Some  time  since  we  met !  "  she  tentatively  chirped. 

Kestner  studied  her.  It  was  Sadie  Wimpel  resplen- 
dent in  vernal  raiment,  raiment  plainly  from  the  rue 
de  la  Paix. 

"  Yes,  it's  some  time,"  he  agreed,  not  without  a 
touch  of  bitterness,  remembering  the  past. 

"You've  quit  the  Service,"  she  continued. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  299 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  ?  "  Kestner  inquired. 

She  laughed  as  she  tucked  her  veil  up  about  her 
modish  little  hat. 

"  Hully  gee,  there's  things  we've  gotta  know ! " 

"  So  I  surmise !  " 

"  An'  I  was  wise  to  you  droppin'  out,  or  I  wouldn't 
be  here ! " 

"  Then  why  are  you  here?  "  demanded  Kestner. 

Sadie  Wimpel  stepped  to  the  middle  of  the  room. 
She  eyed  him  as  she  advanced,  as  though  some  dregs 
of  her  former  fear  of  him  still  troubled  her  mind. 
Her  face  had  grown  quite  sober,  touched  with  a  de- 
termination which  Kestner  had  never  before  seen  on 
it. 

"  I'm  lookin'  for  a  life  line !  "  she  calmly  announced. 

Kestner  motioned  her  into  a  chair. 

"  In  trouble  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Do  I  look  it  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  an  apprecia- 
tive glance  down  her  own  shimmering  fa9ade. 

"  Not  altogether !  "  he  acknowledged  with  the  ghost 
of  a  smile.  "  But  what's  the  line  for  ?  " 

"  For  some  one  you've  gotta  help  !  " 

"But  who?" 

Sadie,  with  a  rustle  of  silk,  condescended  to  seat 
herself. 

"  You've  been  trailin*  Maura  Lambert  f'r  the  last 
six  or  seven  mont's,"  she  reminded  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  promptly  inquired  Kest- 
ner. But  his  pulse  quickened  at  the  mere  mention  of 
the  name. 

"  Oh,  I'm  hep  to  that,  an'  consid'r'ble  more.  But 
before  I  switch  to  that  I  wantta  put  you  wise  to  the 


300  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

fact  I'm  runnin'  straight  these  days.  I'm  a  Art  Im- 
porter now.  Me  an'  Cambridge  Charlie  've  doubled 
up.  I'm  a  canvas  runner  between  here  an'  London." 

"  And  what's  a  canvas  runner?  " 

Sadie  studied  her  eyebrows  in  the  mirror  of  her 
vanity-bag. 

"  These  Eyetalians  don't  allow  an  ol'  master  to  be 
taken  out  o'  the  country.  We've  got  a  Dago  named 
Muselli  gatherin'  up  what  he  can.  Then  I've  tied 
down  one  o'  the  best  copyists  in  Rome  here,  doin' 
dooplicates  of  the  gallery  pictures.  We  take  the 
copy,  scaled  up  or  down  to  the  size  we  order,  an5 
frame  it.  But  before  we  frame  it  we  fit  our  ol'  mas- 
ter canvas  under  the  gallery  copy,  an'  about  once  a 
month  I  skip  over  to  London  wit'  the  goods.  Then  we 
fake  a  story  about  findin'  a  new  Roobens,  or  a  Raph- 
ael Madonna  bein'  dug  out  o'  some  moth-eaten  Eng- 
lish collection.  Then  we  re-ship  to  our  New  York 
agent,  payin'  full  duty,  mind  you,  an'  divvyin'  on  the 
rake-off.  Ain't  that  square  enough?  " 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  honest !  " 

Sadie  disregarded  the  ironic  note  in  Kestner's  re- 
mark. 

"  It's  a  darned  sight  more  genteel'n  the  sable 
game  I  stuck  to  for  more'n  a  month,"  she  argued. 

"The  sable  game?" 

"  Yep !  High-Collar  Connors  rigged  me  out  wit'  a 
seven-hundred  dollar  set  o'  sables  —  stole  from  a  Mil- 
waukee theatre-box.  I'd  blow  into  a  high-class  hotel, 
register,  an*  leave  me  furs  in  the  room.  High-Col- 
lar'd  watch  me  leave  the  room,  an'  then  slip  in  an' 
pinch  the  furs.  Then  I'd  make  a  big  noise  t'  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  301 

office,  an'  they'd  gener'ly  compromise  on  a  couple  o' 
hundred,  to  stop  my  squeal.  But  that  kept  you  on 
the  move,  an'  lacked  class.  This  picture  runnin'  busi- 
ness is  on  a  diPrent  plane.  An'  it  ain't  so  hard  on 
the  noives." 

"  While  keeping  you  intimately  and  actively  in 
touch  with  Art,"  suggested  Kestner. 

"  An'  kept  me  in  touch  wit'  more'n  Art,"  Sadie 
stoutly  maintained.  "  D'you  happen  to  know  jus' 
who's  been  doin'  our  gallery  copyin'  for  the  last  two 
mont's?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea." 

"  Of  course  you  haven't  or  you  wouldn't  be  sittin' 
there  givin'  me  the  glassy  eye,"  pursued  the  unper- 
turbed Sadie.  Then  she  moved  her  chair  a  little  closer 
to  the  table  where  Kestner  sat  before  his  atlas. 

"  It's  the  woman  you've  been  fine-combin'  that  map 
for,"  she  announced.  "  It's  Maura  Lambert." 


II 

SADEE  Wimpel  met  Kestner's  glance  squarely,  with- 
out flinching.  But  in  that  glance  she  saw  only  weari- 
ness and  unbelief  and  the  listless  ennui  of  the  man 
whose  last  aim  in  life  has  led  him  into  the  valley  of 
defeat.  He  was  too  old  a  bird  to  be  duped  by  a  molly- 
gow. 

"  Sadie,"  he  solemnly  and  cynically  inquired, 
"  what's  the  game  ?  " 

"  Ain't  he  the  sour  ol'  cynic  ?  "  Sadie  demanded  of 
the  circumambient.  Then  the  pert  young  face  grew 
suddenly  sober,  and  into  the  sagacious  young  eyes 
came  a  look  not  unlike  resentment.  "  There  ain't  no 
game  in  this.  All  I  say  is  Maura  Lambert's  right 
here  in  Rome,  an'  I  can  lead  you  to  her  any  minute 
you  wantta  go." 

Kestner  pushed  the  atlas  to  one  side  and  leaned 
forward,  studying  the  girl's  face.  Then  his  own  face 
grew  solemn. 

"  Sadie,  how  am  I  to  believe  you  ?  " 

She  answered  that  question  by  asking  another. 

"  How  close  d'  you  ever  get  to  Maura  after  ol' 
Lambert  cashed  in  last  year  over  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  That's  a  question  I  can't  answer." 

*'  Then  give  me  a  stab  at  it.  Just  to  show  what 
I'm  jerry  to!  That  girl  slipped  up  to  Montreal,  an' 

from  Montreal  she  beat  it  on  to  Banff.     Then  she 

302 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  303 

went  to  the  Coast,  an'  doubled  back  from  Victoria. 
Then  she  hit  Chicago  an'  mosied  on  to  Boston.  Did 
you  trace  along  any  o'  that  trail?  " 

"  I  did,"  acknowledged  Kestner.  The  animosity 
had  gone  out  of  his  voice. 

"  Well,  I'll  give  you  some  more  along  the  same 
line.  From  Bean-Town  she  sailed  f'r  Paris,  an'  from 
Paris  she  went  on  to  Munich,  an'  from  Munich  she  am- 
bled off  to  Prague,  an'  then  swung  round  to  Milan  an' 
then  down  to  Rome.  An'  all  that  time  she  was  tryin' 
to  do  decent  work,  kindergartenin'  some  mutt  of  a 
school-girl,  or  paintin'  kid  miniatures,  or  copyin'  gal- 
lery chromos,  or  teachin'  drawin'  to  a  bunch  o'  pension 
dubs  whose  husbands  started  zooin'  her  first  crack 
out  o'  the  box,  and  gettin'  in  bad  jus'  because  she  had 
a  pair  o'  lamps  that'd  make  any  man  sit  up  an'  take 
notice.  She  had  to  do  all  that  woik  wit'  women. 
She  had  to." 

"Why?" 

"  I  guess  you  oughtta  know  the  answer  to  that," 
retorted  the  girl. 

"Why  should  I  know ?" 

"  Hully  gee!  Because  she's  stuck  on  you!  That's 
why!" 

"  Don't  say  that ! "  Kestner  cried  out,  revolting 
against  the  crudity  of  the  underworld  phrase,  repelled 
by  the  freeness  with  which  a  thing  so  sacred  could  be 
tossed  about. 

"  What's  the  good  o'  side-steppin'  the  truth  ? 
Didn't  I  see  her  fall  for  you  that  first  time  you  bumped 
together  in  our  Paris  studio?  Didn't  she  keep  the 
Governor  from  croakin'  you  when  he  had  you  hipped? 


304  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

An'  didn't  you  let  her  go  when  you  thought  you  had 
her  wit'  the  goods?  An'  ain't  she  always  mooned 
round  about  you  an*  had  blinders  on  for  ev'rybody 
else?  She  was  stuck  on  you!  An'  that's  as  true  as 
Gawd  made  little  green  apples ! " 

Kestner  was  on  his  feet  by  this  time.  There  was  a 
light  of  resentment  in  the  world-weary  eyes,  a  look  that 
was  almost  defiance  about  the  grim  line  of  the  mouth. 

"  I  won't  have  you  say  a  thing  like  that !  "  he  con- 
tended. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  tellin'  her  a  few  things  myself  this 
past  month.  An'  she  was  about  as  high  an'  mighty 
as  you're  try  in'  to  be  now.  But  if  she  wants  to  make 
a  monkey  of  herself,  that  ain't  my  business.  I've  got 
my  own  reason  for  handin'  out  this  bunch  o'  talk,  an' 
I  guess  you'd  better  cool  down  an'  listen  to  it," 

Kestner  swung  about  on  her. 

"  If  you've  got  an  object  in  talking  this  way,  I  want 
to  know  it,  and  know  it  quick." 

There  was  a  touch  of  perverseness  in  her  languid 
unconcern  as  she  went  on. 

"  Y'  know,  Maura  Lambert  was  never  cut  out  for 
the  brand  o'  work  that  I've  been  doin'.  She's  not  my 
kind.  In  the  first  place,  she's  too  thin-skinned.  In 
the  second  place,  she  couldn't  get  away  wit'  a  lie  in  a 
month  o'  Sundays.  She's  about  as  green  as  grass. 
Lambert  kept  her  caged  up  like  a  white  mouse.  And 
when  he  dropped  out  she  was  as  alone  as  a  she-lamb 
that'd  fallen  off  a  sheep-train.  She  saw  what  she 
wanted.  She  decided  she  was  goin'  t'  go  straight.  But 
that's  easier  t'  say  than  do.  She  got  in  wrong,  at  the 
start.  An'  when  people  know  she  can  do  the  work 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  80S 

she  does,  there'll  always  be  some  guy  or  other  t'  give 
her  a  yank  back  to  the  ol'  groove.  They  jus'  won't 
give  her  a  chance." 

"  I  know  all  that,"  quickly  acknowledged  her  im- 
patient companion.  "  What  I  want  to  find  out  is 
where  she  is  —  now  —  at  this  moment !  " 

"  Hold  your  horses  a  minute !  I'm  comin'  to  that. 
Maura  never  was  a  mixer  like  me.  An'  she  had  more'n 
lonesomeness  to  fight  against  when,  I  happened  along. 
A  girl  like  that's  gotta  have  money.  She's  gotta  have 
it  to  pertect  herself.  She's  gotta  go  to  good  hotels, 
an'  keep  to  the  better  quarters,  an'  stick  a  buffer  out 
b'tween  her  an'  the  riff-raff.  An'  how's  she  goin'  to 
do  that  when  she's  gotta  skimp  an'  save  jus'  to  keep 
things  goin'  ?  And  when  she  won't  even  push  a  bit  o' 
phoney  paper  when  the  cash  runs  low?  " 

"  Of  course  she'd  never  do  that,"  agreed  Kestner. 
The  pert  and  sophisticated  young  face  across  the  table 
from  him  smiled  for  a  moment.  But  her  manner  grew 
serious  as  she  hurried  on  with  her  talk. 

"  An'  when  she  shook  herself  free  that  time  in  New 
York  she  said  she  was  goin'  to  keep  within  the  law. 
Y'  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Lambert  was  gone; 
Morello  was  wiped  out.  The  whole  gang  was  done 
for.  It  looked  like  the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  An'  I 
guess  it  would  've  been  —  only  something  reached  out 
an'  rattled  the  skeleton  in  the  fam'ly  closet.  No;  it 
wasn't  a  skeleton  ;  it  was  a  whole  boneyard !  " 

"  Make  that  plainer,"  commanded  Kestner. 

"  I  mean  that  when  Maura  got  to  Paris  this  las* 
time  she  was  spotted  by  a  guy  called  Watchel." 

"  Watchel  ?  "  repeated  Kestner.     He  could  not,  at 


306  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

the  moment,  place  the  name.  But  he  was  on  his  feet 
by  this  time,  confronting  the  calm-eyed  girl. 

"  I  guess  you'd  know  Watchel  by  some  name  or 
other,  as  soon  as  you  lamped  his  mug.  He's  the  big 
yellow-haired  guy  who  gathered  in  that  Coast  Defence 
stuff  for  the  Tokio  people  an'  sold  your  Navy's  col- 
loiding  process  secret  for  big  gun  smokeless  to  the 
Germans.  Cambridge  Charlie  says  this  guy  can  get 
a  cool  half  million  for  the  Flamenco  an'  Perico  blue- 
prints an'  the  Canal  defence  plans.  But  he's  canned 
for  America.  He  can't  even  get  in.  An'  he  wants 
somebody,  Charlie  says,  who's  able  to.  An'  a  woman 
who's  a  good  looker'd  be  worth  a  few  thousand  to  him 
for  that  job  alone.  An'  with  what  she  knows  o'  lan- 
guages, an'  that  face  o'  hers,  an'  bein'  able  to  copy  any 
paper  that's  needed,  she'd  soon  be  worth  more  to  'im 
than  any  other  woman  in  Europe." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  this  man  has  been  hounding 
Maura  Lambert  ?  "  was  Kestner's  curt  demand. 

"  Watchel  never  hounds  anybody.  He's  too  smooth 
for  that.  He  jus'  does  the  spider-act,  runnin'  out  a 
web  an'  waitin'  his  chance.  An'  when  he  thinks  he's 
got  his  fly  he  jus'  kicks  out  one  little  thread  after  an- 
other, until  he's  got  her  tied  up  like  a  blue-bottle. 
An'  that's  the  way  he's  goin'  to  tie  up  our  friend 
Maura." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  I  made  it  my  business  to  know  't.  Even  Cam- 
bridge Charlie's  wise  to  what's  goin'  on.  They've  got 
a  plant  on  foot." 

"A  plant?" 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  307 

"  Yes  —  and  they're  goin'  to  spring  it,  an'  spring 
it  soon.  That's  why  I'm  here." 

Kestner  leaned  forward  across  the  table. 

"  How  soon?  " 

"  Before  ten  o'clock  to-night." 

"  What's  the  plant?  "  was  his  next  demand.  He 
was  no  longer  suspicious  of  her.  It  was  not  a  time 
for  equivocating.  The  thought  of  action  awoke  some- 
thing innate  and  long  idle  in  his  breast. 

"  Maura's  hangin'  out  in  the  Piazza  Barberini. 
She's  got  two  or  three  rooms  there.  A  couple  o'  days 
ago  the  Dago  girl  who  takes  care  o'  those  rooms  for 
her  lost  the  keys.  They  were  pinched,  an'  by  one  o' 
Watchel's  men.  Watchel  wants  to  get  her  out  o' 
Rome.  He  knows  he  can't  handle  her  here.  So 
they're  goin'  to  work  a  plant  on  her." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  "  was  Kestner's  impatient  de- 
mand. 

"  There's  an  Austrian  agent  named  Ruhl,  who's  been 
diggin'  out  Eyetalian  army  secrets.  He's  been  re- 
portin'  to  the  Chief  o'  the  General  Staff  o'  the  Eighth 
Army  Corps.  That's  stationed  at  Prague.  They're 
goin'  to  take  his  ol'  code  messages,  an'  stick  in  the 
cipher  key,  an'  copies  o'  the  blue-prints  an'  maps  an' 
things  he's  gathered  up.  Then  they're  goin'  to  plant 
'em  in  Maura's  desk.  It's  ten  to  one  they've  got  'em 
there  already.  To-night  Watchel  and  two  o'  his 
Eyetalian  subs  are  goin'  to  make  a  bluff  o'  raidin'  them 
rooms,  Watchel  holdin'  back  until  the  two  subs  dig 
out  the  papers.  Then  Watchel's  goin'  to  step  in  an* 
catch  her  on  the  bounce.  He's  goin'  to  pose  as  the 


308  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

little  gawd  fr'm  the  machine,  an'  buy  'em  off  until  she 
can  get  out  o'  Rome  an'  across  to  Corfu  or  Ragusa. 
An'  that  means  he's  got  her  tied  up  for  his  own  work. 
An'  it  may  mean  he's  got  her  for  more'n  that !  " 

Kestner  looked  at  his  watch.  The  old  listless  air 
had  gone  from  him.  He  was  once  more  on  his  feet. 

"  What  else  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Ain't  that  enough?" 

"  God  knows,  it's  enough !  "  he  gasped,  as  he  strode 
up  and  down. 

"  Then  what're  you  goin'  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  get  to  those  rooms  before  Watchel 
gets  there." 

"And  then  what?" 

"  Then  I'm  going  to  hang  the  Indian  sign  on  that 
plant,  as  you'd  put  it ! " 

"And  then?" 

Kestner  stood  deep  in  thought.  When  he  spoke,  he 
did  so  with  much  deliberation. 

"  It  may  even  be  necessary  for  you  to  get  some  one 
else  to  copy  those  old  masters  for  you.  I  imagine 
Maura  Lambert  isn't  going  to  be  many  more  days  in 
this  city." 

There  was  a  smile  on  the  pert  young  face. 

"  That  may  not  be  as  easy  as  it  listens." 

"  I'm  used  to  things  that  are  not  easy,"  admitted 
Kestner.  "  And  there's  just  one  thing  I  want  you  to 
help  me  in." 

"Fire  ahead!" 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  Maura  Lambert  away  from 
her  rooms  until  eight  o'clock  to-night." 

"  That's  easy !  "  admitted  Sadie,  as  she  rose  to  her 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  309 

feet.  She  paused  for  a  moment  as  she  stood  powder- 
ing her  nose.  "  It  may  help  some,"  she  absently 
added,  "  to  know  that  this  guy  Watchel  used  to  call 
himself  by  the  name  of  Wimpffen !  " 

"  Wimpffen ! "  echoed  Kestner,  with  quickly  nar- 
rowed eyes  and  a  heavier  droop  to  his  meditative  lips. 
"So  it's  Wimpffen!" 

Sadie  Wimpel  regarded  Kestner  over  her  shoulder 
as  she  buttoned  her  glove. 

"  Cambridge  Charlie's  some  hustler,  when  it  comes 
to  a  scrap,"  she  suggested,  not  without  a  touch  of 
pride. 

For  one  brief  moment  a  smile  played  about  Kest- 
ner's  lips. 

"  I  think  I'll  make  this  my  own  particular  scrap," 
he  announced ;  and  his  tone  as  he  spoke  was  not  with- 
out its  own  touch  of  pride. 

"  Then  me  for  the  tall  timber,"  said  Sadie  as  she 
snapped  shut  her  vanity-bag. 


Ill 

KESTNER'S  next  hour  was  a  frantically  busy  one. 
[Almost  his  first  move  was  to  wire  Wilsnach  at  the  Paris 
Office,  using  the  familiar  Service  Code.  "  Send  me 
Wimpffen's  record  quick."  This  was  followed  by  hur- 
ried calls  at  certain  Embassies  and  on  certain  Aides, 
followed  again  by  a  brief  talk  with  two  civic  officials 
and  a  secret  conference  with  the  uniformed  head  of 
the  Intelligence  Department. 

By  the  time  these  were  over  and  Kestner  had  proved 
that  he  was  not  yet  without  friends  and  influence  in 
Europe,  Wilsnach's  cipher  wire  had  arrived.  And  the 
reading  of  that  wire  brought  a  more  contented  smile 
to  Kestner's  face. 

It  was  less  than  half  an  hour  later  that  an  invalid 
American,  much  muffled  up,  made  a  circuit  of  the 
Piazza.  Barberini,  looking  for  rooms.  His  knowledge 
of  Italian  was  excellent,  and  while  he  panted  up  stair- 
ways and  poked  about  passages  he  talked  fluently 
of  his  ailments  and  wheezily  of  his  dislike  for  damo- 
ness. 

But  this  invalid  American  was  not  easy  to  suit,  and 
many  rooms  were  explored  and  many  passageways  in- 
vestigated before  his  loss  of  strength  compelled  him  to 
give  up  for  the  afternoon. 

It  was  several  hours  later  that  a  figure  oddly  re- 
sembling this  same  invalid  appeared  on  a  loggia  over- 

310 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  311 

looking  a  diminutive  walled  garden  bathed  in  the  soft 
light  of  an  Italian  moon.  Having  reasonably  as- 
sured himself  that  he  was  unobserved,  he  betrayed  an 
agility  unlocked  for  in  one  of  his  years  as  he  climbed 
over  the  heavy  stone  balustrade,  swung  himself  to  a 
nearby  jointed  iron  water-pipe,  and  climbed  nimbly 
down  to  a  shuttered  window.  The  shutters  of  this 
window  he  forced  open  with  a  small  instrument  of 
tempered  steel  taken  from  his  pocket.  Then  he  di- 
rected his  attention  towards  the  double  sashes  them- 
selves. These  were  built  to  swing  outward  on  heavy 
wrought-iron  hinges  and  were  clearly  locked  from  the 
inside.  A  few  moments'  work  with  the  same  piece  of 
tempered  steel,  however,  had  the  sashes  open,  and  the 
house-breaker  without  more  ado  climbed  quietly  and 
nimbly  inside. 

There  he  took  out  a  flashlight  and  began  a  hurried 
but  none  the  less  methodic  exploration  of  the  small 
apartment.  He  noted  the  sleepy  canary  in  a  painted 
Swiss  cage,  the  number  of  bowls  and  vases  about  the 
place,  filled  with  spring  flowers,  Roman  anemones  and 
narcissi  and  daffodils  and  Parma  violets  in  profusion, 
reminding  him  of  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  steps  and  the 
Flower  Market  in  the  Stranger's  Quarter. 

When  he  groped  his  way  into  a  narrow  closet  and 
found  one  wall  hung  with  an  orderly  array  of  woman's 
clothing,  he  gathered  the  folds  of  that  subtly  odor- 
ous raiment  in  his  arms,  and  acting  on  an  impulse  that 
seemed  uncoordinated  and  instinctive,  buried  his  face 
in  them.  For  one  brief  moment  he  drank  in  a  sub- 
limated fragrance  which  seemed  to  leave  him  both  light 
of  head  and  heavy  of  heart.  Then  he  pulled  him- 


312  THE  HAND  OF  PERU, 

self  together  and  went  on  with  his  search,  more  guard- 
edly than  before,  for  the  room  seemed  haunted  with  a 
presence  which  he  could  no  longer  quite  divorce 
from  it. 

He  deliberated  for  some  time  over  a  heavy  teak- 
wood  desk  which  he  found  securely  locked.  He  studied 
this  old-fashioned  piece  of  furniture,  back  and  front, 
testing  its  panels  and  feeling  about  it  for  a  possible 
secret  spring.  Then  he  gave  his  attention  to  the  lock. 
He  was  reluctant  to  force  that  lock,  easy  as  such  an 
act  would  make  his  work.  He  looked  at  his  watch, 
calculating  his  margin  of  safety  as  to  time.  Then  he 
sat  down  before  the  desk,  balanced  his  flashlight  on  the 
bronze  base  of  a  Roman  lamp,  and  began  to  work  at 
the  lock  with  a  small  steel  instrument  not  unlike  a  but- 
ton-hook. 

Then  he  suddenly  paused  in  the  midst  of  his  work. 
With  a  movement  equally  abrupt  he  reached  out  for 
his  flashlight  and  snapped  it  off.  Then  he  sat  at  the 
desk,  without  moving.  For  distinctly  there  came  to 
him  the  sound  of  a  key  being  turned  in  a  lock  and  a 
door  being  opened.  And  he  knew  it  was  the  door  of 
the  apartment  into  which  he  himself  had  broken. 

He  sat  there,  screened  by  the  desk-top,  waiting  for 
the  intruder  to  show  himself. 

He  heard  the  door  close,  and  then  the  sound  of  a 
quick  step.  The  next  moment  a  wall-switch  snapped 
and  the  room  flowered  into  sudden  light.  And  then 
he  saw  that  the  intruder  was  Maura  Lambert. 

He  sat  without  moving,  studying  her  as  she  stood 
there,  with  a  japanned  tin  paint-box  in  her  hand. 
She  was  looking  intently  down  at  the  envelope  of  an 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  313 

unopened  letter,  quite  unconscious  of  his  presence.  He 
could  see  the  same  soft  oval  of  the  ivory-tinted  face, 
the  same  wealth  of  chestnut-brown  hair  under  the 
slightly  tilted  hat-brim,  the  same  shadowy  light  about 
the  violet-blue  eyes,  the  same  misty  rose  of  the  slightly 
puckered  lips.  And  he  knew,  as  he  gazed  at  her  with! 
quickening  pulse,  not  only  that  she  was  beautiful,  that 
she  was  desirable  with  a  loveliness  which  left  an  ache 
in  his  heart,  but  that  his  life  had  been  empty  because 
it  had  been  empty  of  her. 

He  still  sat  there  as  she  crossed  the  room  and  placed 
her  paint-box  on  a  table  beside  the  bronze  bowl  heaped 
with  Parma  violets.  She  stooped  for  a  moment,  to 
bury  her  face  in  the  flowers.  When  she  raised  her 
head  again,  she  stopped  and  half  turned  about,  as 
though  some  psychic  current  had  carried  to  her  the 
warning  of  his  presence  there. 

Her  bewildered  gaze  fell  on  him  as  he  leaned  for- 
ward with  his  elbows  on  the  desk  before  him.  That 
gaze  seemed  to  encompass  him  for  several  moments 
before  she  became  actually  conscious  of  his  presence. 
She  did  not  move  or  cry  out.  But  she  grew  paler  in 
the  side-light  from  the  small  electrolier  above  the  table. 
Then  a  slow  flush  mantled  the  ivory-like  texture  of  her 
skin,  making  the  misty  rose  of  the  mouth  less  marked. 
He  could  see  the  widened  pupil  of  the  eye  darken  and 
invade  the  violet-blue  iris.  He  could  hear  the  quick 
and  quite  involuntary  intake  of  her  breath.  But 
otherwise  there  was  no  movement  from  her.  And  the 
silence  prolonged  itself,  foolishly  yet  epochally,  until 
he  suddenly  realised  the  necessity  for  speech. 

She  put  out  one  hand,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and 


314-  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

steadied  herself  by  resting  her  finger-tips  against  the 
edge  of  the  table  beside  her.  His  own  hand,  he  no- 
ticed, was  not  as  controlled  as  it  ought  to  be. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  began,  and  the  very  inadequacy 
of  such  a  beginning  brought  him  up  short.  He  stood 
there,  groping  vacantly  for  the  right  word,  for  some 
reasonable  phrase  of  explanation. 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  to  follow  me ! " 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  he  could  see  that  it  was  cost- 
ing her  an  effort.  And  her  wondering  gaze  was  still 
encompassing  him,  studying  him  with  an  impersonal 
intentness  which  did  not  add  to  his  peace  of  mind. 

"  There  was  nothing  else  for  me  to  do,"  he  finally 
found  the  wit  to  exclaim. 

She  did  not  seem  to  understand  him.  There  was 
still  something  more  than  a  mild  reproof  in  her  eyes 
as  she  stared  at  him.  She  seemed  mystified  by  the 
fact  that  he  could  have  gained  admission  to  her  rooms 
•without  her  knowledge.  And  when  she  spoke  there 
was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  her  voice. 

"  This  is  history  repeating  itself." 

"  That,"  replied  Kestner,  "  is  a  habit  history  has !  " 

Her  eyes  narrowed,  almost  in  a  wince,  as  though 
his  words  carried  a  sting  which  had  struck  home. 

"  You  should  not  have  come  here,"  she  finally  ex- 
claimed. 

"  I  had  to  come." 

"Why?"  she  demanded. 

"  Because  you  are  in  danger." 

His  words  did  not  disturb  her.  She  could  even  af- 
ford to  smile  a  little  at  their  solemnity. 

"  I  have  been   making  it  my  life  study  to  avoid 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL'  315 

danger,"  she  quietly  explained.  "  There  was  too 
much  of  that  in  the  past." 

"  Precisely.  And  that  past  is  reaching  out  a  hand 
to  threaten  you,  when  you  least  expect  it." 

She  sank  into  a  chair  facing  him. 

"  What  have  I  done?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  It's  nothing  you've  done.  It's  something  you  ma jr 
be  compelled  to  do." 

"  Compelled  by  whom?  "  was  her  quick  inquiry. 

"  By  Watchel,"  was  his  answer.  She  looked  up,  as 
though  the  name  had  startled  her. 

"Who  told  you  this?" 

"  Isn't  it  enough  that  I  know  ?  Can't  you  ever  learn 
to  trust  me?  " 

"  But  you  haven't  told  me  what  you  know,"  she  re- 
plied, and  the  familiar  tremolo  of  the  full-noted  con- 
tralto voice  stirred  him  until  his  own  voice  shook. 

"  There's  only  one  thing  I  know,"  he  suddenly  found 
himself  saying  as  he  sat  facing  her  in  the  softened 
light,  oppressed  by  the  futility  of  all  further  fencing 
over  trivialities. 

"  Only  one  thing? "  she  echoed  with  a  timorous 
movement  of  her  white  hand.  He  knew  the  time  was 
wrong,  and  the  place  was  wrong,  but  he  could  not  keep 
back  the  words. 

"  The  only  thing  I  know  is  that  I  love  you,  that 
I've  loved  you  from  the  first  day  I  saw  you.  I've 
known  that  through  every  hour  of  the  time  I've  had 
to  act  as  your  enemy,  and  now  that  I've  found  you  I 
know  it  more  than  ever." 

His  voice  was  quite  steady  by  this  time,  but  the 
colour  had  gone  from  his  face  until  it  was  almost  as 


816  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

pale  as  that  of  the  ivory-browed  woman  before  him. 
She  did  not  move  as  she  sat  there ;  yet  he  could  see  the 
quickened  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom. 

"  You  should  not  say  these  things,"  she  said,  strug- 
gling to  achieve  a  calm  as  complete  as  his  own. 

"  But  I've  got  to  say  them,"  he  contended.  "  I've 
followed  you  half  way  round  the  world  to  say  them." 

She  had  clasped  together  the  hands  that  lay  in  her 
lap  and  then  unclasped  them,  with  a  small  gesture  of 
hopelessness.  Yet  somewhere  deep  in  the  shadowy 
eyes  was  a  light  which  made  them  less  rebellious,  less 
combative. 

"  But  what  good  can  it  do  ?  "  she  cried  out  to  him. 

"  I  love  you,  and  I  want  you,"  was  his  simple  re- 
joinder. 

"  You  can't !  You  can't ! "  she  said  with  a  little 
shudder  of  self-abasement.  She  was  on  her  feet  by 
this  time,  staring  down  at  him  with  almost  frightened 
eyes. 

"  Are  you  ashamed  of  me,  of  what  I've  been  ?  "  he 
asked  as  he  stood  confronting  her. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  of  all  my  life." 

"  But  all  your  life's  still  before  you,"  he  contended. 
"  We've  both  got  to  begin  over  again." 

"  If  I  only  could ! "  she  said  with  a  half-mournful 
little  gasp. 

Hope  surged  through  him  at  the  sound  of  those 
words.  He  stepped  quickly  over  to  where  she  stood 
between  the  bowl  of  Parma  violets  and  an  Etruscan 
vase  filled  with  anemones.  She  did  not  shrink  away 
from  him.  Bui  the  look  in  her  eyes  was  almost  one  of 
commiseration. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  317 

"  Oh,  you  should  never  have  come  here ! "  she 
mourned. 

"  Can't  you  give  me  a  shred  of  hope?  "  he  pleaded 
as  he  caught  her  passive  hand  in  his.  Yet  its  posses- 
sion brought  him  no  sense  of  triumph.  She  stared 
down  at  it  as  it  lay  limp  and  listless  between  his  fingers, 
as  though  in  it  lay  epitomised  all  that  was  abhorrent 
in  her  past  life.  She  was  moving  her  head  slowly  from 
side  to  side. 

"  There's  nothing  to  give  now,  not  even  hope !  " 

Her  mournful  eyes  were  studying  his  face.  It  was 
not  their  beauty  that  barbed  his  body  with  sudden  ar- 
rows of  fire.  It  was  the  look  of  wordless  pleading  in 
them,  of  pleading  touched  with  vague  pity  and  regret 
for  something  which  he  could  not  comprehend.  It 
awoke  in  him  the  dormant  energy  which  had  made  his 
life  what  it  was,  the  quick  and  instinctive  revolt 
against  surrender,  against  quiescence  and  hesitation  in 
moments  of  crisis. 

"  Then  I  don't  ask  for  hope,"  was  his  sudden  cry. 
"  Can't  you  see  that  all  I  want  is  you  —  you!  " 

She  wavered  mistily  for  a  moment  before  his  eyes. 
Then  his  hungering  arms  went  out  and  she  seemed  to 
melt  into  them  and  he  stood  holding  her  sobbing  body 
against  his  own.  He  could  feel  each  quick  and  capitu- 
lating catch  of  the  breath  as  he  held  her  there  without 
resistance.  And  she  seemed  something  flower-like  and 
precious,  something  to  be  always  cherished  and  shel- 
tered, as  she  lifted  her  face  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  it's  no  use,"  she  said  with  a  little  child-like 
wail.  "  I  can't  help  it !  I  love  you !  I  do !  I  do !  " 

He  could  feel  the  arms  that  had  seemed  so  impas- 


318  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

sive  suddenly  lift  themselves  about  his  shoulder  and 
cling  there.  He  could  feel  the  warmth  of  her  body 
close  against  his  own.  He  could  see  the  misty  red  of 
the  mouth  and  the  perfect  line  of  the  up-poised  chin. 
He  was  conscious  only  of  an  infinite  want,  as  he  leaned 
closer  to  that  mingled  warmth  and  fragrance.  His 
lips  met  hers,  and  all  thought  of  time  and  place  and 
the  world  slipped  away  from  them. 


IV 

ABRUPT  as  the  crash  of  a  stone  through  a  conserva- 
tory-pane came  the  break  in  the  silence  which  had 
enisled  them.  It  came  in  the  form  of  a  knock  on 
the  door,  peremptory,  impatient,  authoritative.  It 
brought  the  world  back  about  them,  at  a  stroke.  It 
reminded  Kestner  of  why  he  was  there,  of  a  mission 
that  had  stood  for  the  moment  forgotten,  of  the  dan- 
ger that  might  still  be  ahead  of  them. 

"  Wait ! "  he  said  in  a  whisper  as  he  started  for  the 
door.  But  before  he  could  cross  the  room  that  door 
swung  open  and  a  man  stepped  inside. 

The  first  thing  about  this  man  that  impressed  Kest- 
ner was  his  size.  Yet  an  over-fastidiousness  of  ap- 
parel seemed  to  lend  to  the  great  figure  a  touch  of  the 
effeminate.  He  reminded  the  American  of  an  Angle 
viking  in  a  silk-lined  Inverness.  He  made  a  figure 
that  at  first  glance  might  pass  unchallenged  through 
the  grand  monde  of  Rome,  yet  beneath  the  immaculate 
raiment  and  the  official-like  posture  of  the  shoulders 
lay  some  inalienable  trace  of  the  charlatan. 

Kestner  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  man  was  Watchel, 
at  one  time  answering  to  the  name  of  Wimpffen,  and 
at  still  another  known  as  Keudell.  He  knew  it  by  the 
small  sword-scars  on  the  blonde  cheek,  by  the  deep- 
set  eyes  under  the  yellow  lashes,  by  the  grim  and 
saturnine  mouth  with  the  touch  of  mockery  about  the 

heavy  lips.     He  recalled  certain  things  from  Wils- 

319 


320  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

nach's  wire,  the  murder  of  Eichendorff  at  Odessa,  the 
court-martial  at  Boden,  the  Provincial  Court  case  at 
Vienna  over  the  Galician  fortification  betrayals,  the 
earlier  rumour  of  a  year  once  spent  in  the  penal  mines 
of  Siberia,  the  Livorno  plot  to  smuggle  the  fruits  of 
a  winter's  espionage  out  of  Italy  by  concealing  cer- 
tain papers  in  the  coffin  of  a  British  Admiral  who  had 
died  at  Pisa,  There  were  other  unsavoury  details  from 
equally  unsavoury  quarters.  And  remembering  them, 
Kestner  also  remembered  that  knowledge  was  power. 
Yet  his  enemy  seemed  in  no  way  discomfited  by  the 
American's  calm  stare  of  opposition. 

"  Herr  Keudell,  I  believe?  " 

Kestner  had  the  satisfaction  of  beholding  the  deep- 
set  eyes  betray  one  brief  second  of  disquiet.  But  it 
was  a  second  and  no  more. 

"  Herr  Watchel,"  corrected  the  other. 

Kestner  bowed. 

"  It's  some  time,  Herr  Watchel,  since  we've  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting." 

"  It  is,"  admitted  Watchel.  But  the  grim  line  of 
his  mouth  did  not  relax. 

"At  that  last  meeting,  you  may  remember,  I  had 
occasion  to  inquire  as  to  your  particular  business  of 
the  moment.  I  must  now  repeat  that  inquiry." 

Watchel's  movement  was  one  of  brusque  impatience. 

"  My  business  is  my  own,"  was  his  coldly  enunciated 
retort. 

"  In  this  room  and  the  presence  of  this  lady  " — 
Watchel  sniffed  audibly  afc  Kestner's  ceremonial  bow 
— "  I  fear  that  all  business  must  first  be  referred  to 
me." 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  321 

"  Why?  "  demanded  Watchel. 

"  That  I  can  explain  when  I  recognise  the  necessity 
for  doing  so." 

Watchel  made  a  sign  to  the  white-faced  woman  who 
stood  so  intently  watching  them. 

"  Get  this  man  out  of  here,"  he  commanded. 

"  That,"  was  Kestner's  easy  retort,  "  may  not  be 
as  simple  as  it  appears." 

Watchel  threw  back  the  silk-lined  cape  of  his  In- 
verness. Then  he  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
Having  done  that,  he  took  out  a  time-piece  of  heavily 
embossed  gold. 

"  I  will  give  you  three  minutes,"  he  calmly  an- 
nounced. "  Three  minutes  and  no  more ! " 

"  And  then  ?  "  suggested  Kestner.  The  dull  glow 
that  burned  through  his  body  forewarned  him  that  all 
his  old  fighting  blood  was  again  being  stirred  into 
life.  It  was  the  voice  of  Maura  Lambert  that  broke 
the  silence. 

**  Please  go !  "  she  timorously  implored.  The  un- 
locked for,  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice  made  Kestner 
swing  sharply  about  on  her. 

"  You  want  me  to  ?  "  he  demanded,  staring  at  her 
colourless  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  She  was  staring  intently 
at  Watchel,  as  a  child  stares  into  an  unlighted  room 
through  which  it  must  pass. 

"  Then  you'll  tell  me  why,"  insisted  Kestner.  He 
was  still  further  perplexed  by  her  unconscious  gesture 
of  despair,  by  the  tragic  light  in  her  troubled  eyes. 

"  Tell  him !  "  was  Watchel's  curt  command. 


\ 
322  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

She  still  stood  at  the  far  side  of  the  room,  but  all 
the  while  that  she  spoke  she  kept  watching  the  huge 
blonde  figure  facing  Kestner. 

"  For  two  months  I  have  been  in  this  man's  pay," 
she  slowly  and  distinctly  said. 

"  In  this  man's  pay  ?  "  echoed  Kestner. 

"I  was  alone,  and  without  money,"  she  went  de- 
terminedly on  in  her  flat  and  unhurried  monotone. 
"  A  dealer  for  whom  I  had  copied  eight  gallery  can- 
vasses went  away  without  paying  me.  I  was  in  trouble 
about  a  studio  I  had  taken  from  an  English  artist  in 
the  Via  Cavour.  I  had  to  move  to  a  cheap  pension. 
And  even  there  the  same  trouble  presented  itself." 

"  Go  on,"  prompted  Kestner. 

"  Then  this  man  came  to  me,  when  I  was  making  a 
copy  of  Raphael's  Sybils  in  Santa  Maria  Delle  Pace, 
for  a  Pittsburgh  banker  who  countermanded  the  order 
when  he  found  it  wouldn't  fit  his  dining-room.  I 
seemed  to  be  at  the  end  of  my  rope.  Then  this  man 
asked  me  to  copy  a  signature  for  him.  He  said  that 
a  copy  would  be  worth  five  hundred  lire  to  him.  I  did 
it,  in  the  end,  and  he  paid  me.  Then  he  came  again, 
saying  that  a  friend  of  his  had  to  have  credentials  and 
passports  to  take  him  through  the  Turkish  lines  to 
Adrianople." 

"  Go  on,"  again  commanded  Kestner  as  she  came  to 
a  stop. 

"  I  put  him  off,  day  by  day,  until  my  money  was 
gone  and  I  was  helpless  again.  There  seemed  no 
other  way.  Then  I  borrowed  what  money  I  could 
from  the  piccolo  who  used  to  run  errands  for  me.  I 
borrowed  that  money  to  cable  to  you  at  Washington. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  323 

An  answer  came  back  saying  you  were  no  longer  with 
the  Department." 

"  And  I  never  even  knew,"  cried  Kestner,  taking  a 
deep  breath. 

"  I  made  copies  of  a  passport,"  she  went  on,  "  and 
was  paid  for  it.  Then  I  copied  a  signature  on  the 
official  paper  of  the  Austrian  Embassy,  and  was"  paid 
for  that.  Then  this  man  came  to  me  and  said  I  would 
have  to  go  with  him  to  Corfu,  where  I  could  work  with 
him  on  duplicates  of  the  Toulon  fortifications.  I  re- 
fused to  go.  He  tried  to  force  me  to  go,  but  that 
same  day  I  met  Sadie  Wimpel  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna. 
Through  her  I  got  a  commission  to  make  gallery 
copies  for  an  English  dealer." 

"Is  that  all?"  demanded  Kestner.  His  face  was 
now  almost  as  colourless  as  the  woman's. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  the  same  flat  monotone  as  be- 
fore. 

Kestner  turned  slowly  about,  confronting  the  man 
who  still  stood  with  the  time-piece  in  his  hand. 

"  You  can  put  away  that  watch,"  he  announced 
with  a  steely  incisiveness.  He  did  not  speak  loudly, 
but  from  his  eyes  shone  a  white-heat  of  indignation 
which  could  not  be  concealed. 

"  Why  can  I  ?  "  asked  Watchel,  still  making  a  pre- 
tence of  viewing  him  with  bland  and  rounded  eyes. 

'*  Because  I'm  going  to  thrash  you  within  an  inch, 
of  your  life!  "  declared  the  American  as  he  threw  off 
his  coat  and  tossed  it  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 


THE  shoulders  of  Watchel's  huge  figure  shook  with 
an  effort  at  contemptuous  laughter.  But  that  laugh- 
ter was  as  mirthless  as  the  cackle  of  a  guinea-hen. 
Kestner  did  not  even  deign  to  observe  it.  He  turned 
sharply  about  to  the  watching  woman. 

"  In  the  meantime  I  want  you  to  take  a  botta  direct 
to  the  American  Embassy.  Ask  for  Schuyler  there, 
tell  him  I  sent  you,  and  wait  until  I  come  for  you." 

Watchel  made  a  move  of  heavy  impatience.  The 
change  in  his  own  face  denoted  his  determination  to 
waste  no  more  time  over  non-essentials. 

"  She  can't  do  it.  And  you  may  as  well  know  it 
now." 

"  Why  can't  she  do  it?  " 

Watchel  unbuttoned  his  Inverness  and  tossed  it  to 
one  side. 

"  Because  at  the  bottom  of  that  stairway,  my  young 
friend,  are  two  officers  waiting  to  place  her  under  ar- 
rest, for  selling  Italian  military  secrets  to  the  agent 
of  a  foreign  power." 

It  was  Kestner's  turn  to  laugh. 

"  Call  them  up !  "  he  commanded. 

"I  don't  need  to  call  them  up,"  retorted  Watchel, 
visibly  disturbed  by  his  opponent's  confident  manner. 

"  You  can't  call  them  up,"  broke  in  Kestner.  "  And 
I'll  tell  you  the  reason  why.  Those  men  are  not  there. 

And  they're  not  there  because  of  my  orders.     Do  you 

324 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  325 

understand  that?  And  from  this  evening  on,  Herr 
Watchel,  alias  Gustav  Wimpffen,  alias  Adolph  Keu- 
dell,  you're  going  to  have  something  more  than  a  lonely 
girl  to  fight  against !  " 

Watchel,  with  an  assumption  of  leisure,  proceeded 
to  remove  his  immaculate  gloves. 

"  And  what  must  I  fight  against  ?  "  he  inquired  with 
a  lift  of  the  eyebrows. 

"  Against  me!  "  barked  out  Kestner  as  he  crossed 
the  room.  Then  he  swung  about  to  Maura  Lambert 
again.  "  Have  you  got  a  key  for  this  desk?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"Where'dyou  get  it?" 

"  I  had  a  duplicate  made  after  losing  the  first  one, 
two  days  ago." 

"  And  who  got  the  first  one  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  But  I  do.  And  this  man  Watchel  does.  Open 
the  desk,  please." 

Kestner  strode  to  the  door  and  closed  it,  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  heavy  panels.  The  girl  crossed 
to  the  teakwood  desk  and  with  shaking  fingers  fitted  a 
key  to  the  lock.  Then  she  opened  the  lid. 

Watchel  took  three  steps  forward,  as  though  to  fol- 
low her.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  turned  about, 
facing  Kestner. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  woman  is  ?  "  he  contemptu- 
ously demanded. 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  she  is,"  cried  back  Kestner,  and 
his  voice  was  shaking.  Seven  months  of  banked  fires, 
of  repressed  human  passion,  blazed  out  from  him  as 
he  spoke.  "  And  I  know  what  you  are,  Wimpffen, 


326  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

and  before  you're  taken  back  to  Odessa  to  answer  for 
the  murder  of  Eichendorff  a  few  others  are  going  to 
know  it!  You're  the  cur  who's  low  enough  to  steal  a 
woman's  keys  and  plant  in  her  private  desk  a  package 
of  papers  you  thought  would  leave  her  in  your  power ! 
You're  the  cowardly  hound  who  tried  to  drag  an  hon- 
est woman  into  a  life  that  was  hateful  to  her,  and  you 
tried  to  do  it  by  stealing  Alfred  Ruhl's  cipher-mes- 
sages to  the  Chief  of  the  General  Staff  at  Prague  and 
hiding  them  in  that  desk  and  then  having  a  couple  of 
Italian  agents  as  currish  as  yourself  hound  her  un- 
til she  was  to  swing  in  with  your  plans !  That  was  the 
scheme,  and  when  the  time  comes  you're  going  to  an- 
swer for  it!  But  you're  going  to  answer  for  it  to 
me  first!  And  you're  going  to  do  it  before  you  get 
out  of  this  room  !  " 

The  big  blonde  face  was  no  longer  unconcerned. 
The  debonair  expression  about  the  heavy  lips  had 
vanished.  The  yellow-lashed  lids  had  narrowed  over 
the  eyes  and  the  jaw  was  thrust  forward,  as  though 
the  huge  skull  had  been  racked  by  the  pressure  of 
some  vast  yet  invisible  force  at  the  nape  of  the  neck. 
The  colour  of  the  face  itself  had  also  changed,  the 
blood  beneath  the  cuticle  seeming  to  curdle  and  stag- 
nate and  leave  splashes  of  saffron  against  a  yellow 
background.  And  it  was  not  a  pleasant  face  to  look 
upon. 

But  Kestner  dwelt  on  none  of  these  things.  What 
suddenly  but  indeterminately  disturbed  him  was  the 
discovery  that  Watchel's  hands  were  shaking  as  he 
fell  back  a  step  or  two,  with  his  eyes  on  the  other  man 
as  he  did  so. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  327 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  answer  for  it,"  Watchel  said  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  his  throat  without  a 
movement  of  the  lips.  "  And  I'm  going  to  answer  for 
it  in  the  right  way !  " 

Kestner's  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  the  trembling  hand 
that  pawed  for  a  moment  along  the  carefully  pressed 
lapel  of  the  carefully  tailored  coat.  He  saw  that 
hand  suddenly  disappear  beneath  the  lapel,  and  at  the 
same  moment  his  own  hand  swung  down  to  his  hip. 
He  knew,  even  as  he  did  so,  that  the  movement  was 
useless,  that  his  own  automatic  was  in  the  side-pocket 
of  the  coat  which  he  had  flung  into  a  corner  of  the 
room. 

He  saw  the  metal-flash  of  Watchel's  revolver  before 
he  could  possibly  reach  that  corner  or  that  coat.  He 
was  not  a  coward,  but  his  heart  stopped,  for  he  knew 
what  the  next  moment  had  in  store  for  him. 

His  next  action  was  instinctive ;  he  had  no  time  for 
thought.  He  ducked  low  and  darted  forward,  think- 
ing to  reach  the  shelter  of  the  heavy  teakwood 
desk. 

But  the  first  shot  came  at  the  same  moment  that  he 
ducked.  He  could  feel  a  small  twitch  at  the  elbow,  as 
though  his  coat-sleeve  had  been  plucked  by  impa- 
tient and  invisible  fingers.  That  first  flying  bullet, 
he  knew,  had  actually  cut  through  the  cloth  of  his 
coat. 

But  he  had  reached  the  desk-end  before  the  second 
shot  could  be  fired.  His  movement  there  was  equally 
unreasoned  and  instinctive  as  his  first.  He  caught 
the  Roman  lamp  of  heavy  brass  by  the  top.  He  was 
possessed  of  a  vague  idea  to  smash  down  the  shaking 


328  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL, 

hand  still  holding  the  revolver.  But  he  could  already 
feel  that  the  action  was  a  foolish  one,  for  the  waiting 
finger  compressed  on  its  trigger  before  that  swinging 
standard  of  brass  could  even  reach  the  zenith  of  its 
orbit. 

Kestner  was  conscious  of  the  quickly  shifting  barrel 
being  directed  at  his  own  body.  And  he  knew  that 
the  shot  was  to  be  fired,  and  fired  at  calamitously  close 
quarters,  that  the  small  black  mouth  of  the  weapon 
was  ordained  to  deliver  its  flame  and  lead. 

Then  the  picture  in  some  way  became  confused.  Its 
shiftings  were  too  rapid  to  decipher.  But  at  what 
seemed  the  moment  when  the  black  barrel-end  spoke 
he  heard  Maura  Lambert's  cry,  flat  with  fear.  He 
saw  her  hand  dart  out  and  clutch  the  glimmering  steel 
barrel.  She  caught  at  it  foolishly,  insanely,  as  though 
a  barrier  so  frail  might  hold  back  that  tearing  and 
rending  bullet  which  an  inch  of  solid  oak  could  scarcely 
stop. 

Her  cry  and  the  report  of  the  revolver  seemed  al- 
most simultaneous.  Kestner  saw  her  arm  flung  out- 
ward and  downward,  sharply.  That  movement  could 
not  have  been  more  spasmodic  had  it  been  controlled 
by  the  quick  jerk  of  a  wire.  But  he  saw  that  his  own 
body  had  sustained  no  shock,  and*  he  had  sense  enough 
to  remember  there  must  be  no  time  for  a  third 
shot. 

Kestner  was  on  his  tiptoes  as  he  brought  the  Ro- 
man lamp  down  on  Watchel's  upraised  right  arm,  for 
all  the  strength  of  his  being  was  behind  that  blow.  It 
struck  true.  The  fire-arm  went  clattering  across  the 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  329 

room  and  the  hand  that  had  held  it  suddenly  col- 
lapsed. 

A  quick  wonder  seemed  to  fill  Watchel's  eyes  as  he 
stared  at  his  own  arm,  for  from  the  elbow  down  it 
hung  helpless.  But  the  wonder  did  not  remain  long 
in  the  pale  eyes,  for  Kestner's  second  blow  crashed 
down  on  thje  huge  head,  held  slightly  to  one  side.  Be- 
fore Kestner  could  strike  again  the  swaying  figure 
crumpled  up  on  itself  and  sank  to  the  floor,  oddly 
twisted  and  contorted,  as  apparently  spineless  as  a 
straw-stuffed  effigy  fallen  from  a  fruit-tree. 

Kestner  stared  for  a  moment  at  the  tall  standard 
of  the  lamp,  bent  like  a  rod  of  lead.  Then  he  stared 
at  the  man  on  the  floor.  Then  he  suddenly  dropped 
the  lamp,  for  at  the  sound  of  a  little  gasp  he  remem- 
bered the  fact  of  Maura  Lambert's  presence  there. 

She  had  sunk  into  a  chair,  and  was  bent  forward 
clasping  her  right  hand  in  her  left.  The  thumb  and 
fore-finger  of  the  latter  tightly  enclosed  the  first 
finger  of  the  other  hand.  There  was  blood  on  her 
skirt. 

For  a  moment  Kestner's  breath  caught  in  his  throat. 
Then  he  saw  what,  it  all  meant.  That  tightly  held 
forefinger  was  without  its  first  joint.  Watchel's  sec- 
ond bullet  had  torn  away  the  entire  bone  and  flesh  of 
the  first  phalanx. 

The  thought  of  that  perfect  hand  being  thus  dis- 
figured awakened  a  foolish  rage  in  him.  Then 
through  the  first  black  moment  of  his  anger  shot  a 
newer  thought.  It  was  more  than  a  disfigured  hand. 
It  was  a  helpless  one.  Its  power  had  been  taken  from 


330  THE  HAND  OF  PERIL 

it.  Its  meticulous  adeptness  with  pen  and  brush 
would  be  forever  lost.  All  that  Paul  Lambert  had 
ever  taught  her  belonged  to  another  world. 

Then  a  fury  of  activity  seized  him.  He  remembered 
running  to  the  next  room  and  catching  up  a  folded 
towel  and  tearing  it  into  strips.  He  remembered 
hearing  many  steps  and  voices  in  the  passageway  out- 
side and  much  pounding  and  knocking  on  the  door. 
He  remembered  telling  her  that  they  could  get  down 
to  a  cab  and  be  at  the  Ospedale  Internationale  in  ten 
minutes'  time.  He  remembered  the  convulsive  shaking 
of  her  body  as  she  surrendered  her  hand  to  his  "  first- 
aid  "  bandaging,  and  his  clumsy  efforts  to  reassure 
her  that  everything  would  be  all  right,  and  her  re- 
newed shudder  as  Watchel  groaned  aloud  where  he  lay. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  Kestner  said  as  h»  tied  the 
ends  of  the  roughly-made  bandage. 

"  I'm  not  frightened  —  for  myself,"  she  quavered 
as  she  stared  down  at  the  inert  figure  on  the  floor. 

"  Then  don't  worry  about  that  ox,"  was  the  other's 
quick  cry  of  contempt.  "  Nothing  but  a  rope  will  end 
him!" 

Kestner  steadied  her  as  she  rose  to  her  feet.  A  sob 
caught  in  her  throat  as  she  leaned  on  his  arm. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  means  ?  "  she  tremulously 
asked.  She  was  still  staring  apprehensively  down  at 
Watchel's  groaning  figure. 

"  It  means  the  end  of  this  sort  of  thing,"  declared 
Kestner.  "  It  means  you  must  come  with  me,  and 
there  can  be  no  going  back ! " 

She  stared  down  at  her  roughly  bandaged  hand  as 
Kestner  crossed  the  room  and  unlocked  the  door. 


THE  HAND  OF  PERIL  331 

"  There  can  be  no  going  back !  "  she  repeated. 

And  when  a  rotund  Guardia  di  Pubblica  flung  open 
the  door  he  beheld  a  coatless  man  take  the  signora 
ingtese  in  his  arms  and  hold  her  there  as  she  mur- 
mured, "  Oh,  I  love  you!  I  do!  I  do!  " 


THE   END 


FUU 


